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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28507254">The Sixth Eternity</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyDragon/pseuds/MiladyDragon'>MiladyDragon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragons, Gods and Goddesses, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Magic, Minor Andrew Garner/Melinda May, Minor Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau, Minor Character Death, Minor Daisy Johnson/Daniel Sousa, Minor Leo Fitz/Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Magical Gifts, Past Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse, Shapeshifting, Telepathy, Violence, Wingfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:42:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>141,392</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28507254</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyDragon/pseuds/MiladyDragon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton - Human, blessed by Darkness.  A mercenary, but with a past even he isn't aware of.</p><p>Phillipjarayan'coulson - Aalveyn, blessed by Light.  A seemingly simple trader, but with secrets that only Clint can see. </p><p>They are meant for greatness, to help usher in the Sixth Eternity, a time of peace and prosperity for the Races of Marvala.  </p><p>But, more than that, they are meant to be together.  For Darkness cannot exist without the Light.  Only they see their duties and not their destinies, and those duties threaten to break them apart.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Jane Foster/Thor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>394</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Map of Marvala</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is the longest story I've ever written; in fact, it's sitting at a little more than 431k words, and it's nowhere near being done.  I do hope you enjoy it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Map of Marvala</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Excerpts from the Book of the Eternities</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <em>From the First Eternity</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>In the beginning, there was emptiness.  And, within the emptiness, came the One Above All, Everything and Nothing, the End and the Beginning, a Single Point and yet Vast Beyond Imagining, from which all the Eternities would rise and fall.</p>
<p>The One Above All spanned the emptiness, in its many forms, and in each of those forms the One brought into being creatures to watch over spaces that the One Above All created for them, gifting each with a portion of its infinite power. </p>
<p>And, thus were the Twelve brought into existence, in that clear single moment of creation, their own space separate yet equal to all the other spaces that would exist at the One Above All’s command and different yet the same as those other spaces.</p>
<p>The Twelve simply Were, and Are, and Will Be, essences within the One Above All and the emptiness together, existing outside of Time and Space, as such concepts were not yet a part of the emptiness, simply dancing within the infinity of their own space. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>From the First Eternity</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then came the Sundering of the spaces that the One Above All had gifted its creations.</p>
<p>The Twelve were Sundered from the siblings that had existed alongside the Twelve in that first of all Eternities, the children of the One Above All in their myriad numbers.</p>
<p>And the Twelve were themselves became Sundered one from the other, although their Sundering was of their own making and own choice, becoming their own beings.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>From the Second Eternity</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Twelve grew afraid at the Sundering, and so they themselves became Sundered from one another, creating places of safety and peace within their own space, which was now separate from the other spaces that the One Above All had wrought.  Places where they could wander and build and grow into themselves, healing the wounds caused by the Sundering from their now-lost siblings that the One Above All had brought into being.  Each of these spaces reflected those new facets that were developing within the Twelve, facets that were pieces of the One Above All’s gifts to them from that primordial being, and these became their realms. </p>
<p>Thus were the beginnings of the Twelve Havens, each an embodiment of their creator, and for the entirety of the Second Eternity the Twelve became different personalities, different parts of the whole, filling up their part of the emptiness with whatever so they desired, although desire was not something they had known before.  It was also during this Eternity that the Twelve became more and more distinct from the other, taking on the roles that they would be known for among mortals:</p>
<p>Good and Evil.  Order and Chaos.  Light and Darkness.  Magic and Science.  Peace and Strike.  Life and Death.</p>
<p>These are the Twelve, the Deities, and would be forever known by these traits, and others that would come about much later, given to them by those that worshipped them and by their own actions within the space they now called their home.</p>
<p>They did spend an Eternity within their Havens, separate one from the other, learning themselves and the limits of their power.</p>
<p>The Twelve would not be one with each other again, never like they had been, for the rest of all the Eternities, by the overarching decree of the One Above All and the Sundering that it had wrought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>From the Third Eternity</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>At long last, the Twelve grew lonely in their Havens, remembering that they had once been as one with others; and so, they emerged once more into the rest of the space granted them by the One Above All.  However, as they had been Sundered and so long separate and apart, they could no longer join as One as they had been within the First Eternity, with their now-lost siblings and with themselves.</p>
<p>They had also gained their own personalities, and to their surprise it seemed as if they had become sixes of pairs, in an echo of their former closeness.  At first, this frightened them, and then delighted them, so they continued to shape themselves into new beings, each opposite of their pair, with the aid of their fellows.</p>
<p>And thus were the Twelve made into forms that were near to their final ones.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Good and Evil.</p>
<p>Life and Death.</p>
<p>Peace and Strife.</p>
<p>Light and Darkness.</p>
<p>Order and Chaos.</p>
<p>Magic and Science.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One could not exist without the other, although they would always remain separate.  It would always be the way of it, until the end of all the Eternities to come.</p>
<p>However, these facets of the Twelve were still new, and they yet did not know as yet what they could do. </p>
<p>So, they decided to create something else, something outside of their own Havens and wholly separate from what they had previously wrought with the powers gifted unto them by the One Above All.</p>
<p>Only they would create it together, in an echo of their former closeness.</p>
<p>Thus was the World that would be named Marvala, born.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>From the Fourth Eternity</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>And then, in a time as yet unknown, that the Twelve came together, after being apart, and they decided to create something that reflected their whole as it once had been, and thus was Marvala, the World, brought into being, built from the substance of the Twelve in equal measure.</p>
<p>Each was pleased by their creation, and yet something was missing.  Light and Darkness discussed the matter, and Darkness breathed onto the Earth that she had contributed to the creating, bringing unto the new World the first of the beasts that would thrive within its borders. </p>
<p>Life and Death, seeing the creation and knowing that it was what their new World needed, added their contribution into Darkness’ creation, gifting to her Design Life and Death in equal measure.  Light breathed into it the breath of his Air, and the first of the creatures of the world came into being.</p>
<p>The others of the Twelve, upon seeing what the four of their number had wrought, joined in with them on the next wave of creation. </p>
<p>Peace wrought creatures born of Water, the Leviathans, Flerken, and the very fishes in their infinite variety, as this was her contribution to the World.</p>
<p>Strife brought into being beasts of Fire, Dragons and others of their sort, as well as the mighty Phoenixes that were born of flame and died in the ashes of their own immolation, only to rise again.</p>
<p>There were more creatures made from Darkness, of Earth, the Great Wyrms at the heart of the world, the Dryads which were the Guardians of the Trees, and other creatures that crawled and moved across and through and under the ground.</p>
<p>Of Light came the Snowbirds and the Flutterbyes and others of Air and Flight, as well including the fearsome beasts that would become the Deathstrikes, creatures subsumed by Death for his own pleasure. </p>
<p>As these newest creations were blank as to intention, Good and Evil, as well as Order and Chaos, stirred their own essences into the mix, and thus brought individuality to those that prowled and flew and swam in this new place.</p>
<p>Magic and Science, however, refrained from adding anything as yet, not certain how they could contribute to the building.  None of the creatures upon the World had the intelligence to manipulate their forces, and so they stood apart, watching their siblings dance with wild abandon within the music of their creation. </p>
<p>However, an idea came to Magic, and she moved toward the World, calling into being yet another creature, one that would be capable of wielding her abilities and able to learn about the World and to be its protector.  Science joined his sister in her creation, rejoicing in their collaboration.</p>
<p>When the rest of the Twelve saw what the two of their siblings had done, they also added to the creation, a being that could wield any and all of their formidable gifts, granted by the Twelve themselves, and not be trapped within the web of its own creation.</p>
<p>Thus was the first of the mortal Races, the Aalveyn, born.</p>
<p>And came the Fourth Eternity.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>From the Fourth Eternity</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>The others of the Twelve were overjoyed at Magic’s and Science’s ingenuity.  They rushed to bestow their own gifts upon the newest Race, while Magic and Science watched with pride.  The new Race accepted the gifts given, and moved out into the World, creating their own spaces within it, much as the Twelve had done when they had first been Sundered from themselves and the others of their kind. </p>
<p>The Aalveyn grew in grace and brilliance, using the gifts they had been given to improve themselves and their home.  This was the time of Great Invention, new and wonderous innovations were being brought into the World, and the Twelve watched with pride as their children increased in wisdom and beauty.</p>
<p>However, in time, the Aalveyn grew far too proud of their gifts and their devices, and the Twelve walked amongst them and began to despair.  The new Race were lost in that pride, and the Twelve began to slowly remove their blessings, in hope that they would learn humility, so that the once-great Race began to diminish in knowledge and prestige and power.  Instead, however, of the Aalveyn coming back to the Twelve in supplication and asking for forgiveness, they grew angry and insular, until they had all but turned their backs upon the Twelve that had created them.</p>
<p>Of all the Twelve, Magic most mourned the loss of the Aalveyn, the beings that she and her counterpart had created to be the missing piece of the World, and had yet become a disappointment to her and to Science.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>From the Fourth Eternity</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Science, seeing this result, came to his own decision…to begin again, to bring forth another Race, without the mistakes that had been made with the Aalveyn.</p>
<p>And thus, he breathed existence into the Skell.</p>
<p>The Twelve were reluctant to bless this newest Race, and yet they also missed the Aalveyn as they had once been.  Each of them vowed not to bless the Skell as much or in the way that they had the Aalveyn, although Strife took much liking to the Skell, granting them power over the Fires of the World to use in their forging.  Darkness also whispered to them the Secrets of the Earth, of the deep places under mountains and of the stones of the deep, and the Skell became skilled at the making of glorious objects of much beauty and strength.</p>
<p>However, they also learned the making of weapons, from the bright metal that had been gifted to them by Darkness and Science.</p>
<p>The Skell were the first to worship Strike and Fire also as War, waging battle against the last of the Aalveyn, whom they saw as being ungrateful to the Twelve as they had turned away from them.  The Aalveyn, who had become so much diminished without the blessings of the Twelve, were no match for the Skell.</p>
<p>The Twelve despaired at the deaths of the Aalveyn; although they had put their backs against the Twelve, they were still their Children.  Thus, when those Aalveyn who ran afoul of the Skell left the World, the Twelve made places for them within their own individual spaces, creating for them within their Havens places where those who had faced their final death would have a home after life was done, depending on what gifts they had received from whichever of the Twelve that had been their benefactor in life.</p>
<p>And then, the Twelve punished the Skell much as they had punished the Aalveyn, taking away their gifts and sending them back into the bowels of the World, where they cowered away from the Twelve even as they ranted at the unfairness of their treatment.  As the Skell had seen it, they had simply been punishing the Aalveyn for their own repudiation of the Twelve, and felt that their treatment by the Twelve was unfair.</p>
<p>Many turnings of the World would it be before the Skell came to learn the error of their ways, and yet the relations between themselves and the remaining Aalveyn were never much peaceful ever again, except in such small pockets of brotherhood that could be made.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>From the Fourth Eternity</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There came a group of Aalveyn that broke away from their kin, leaving their ancestral lands and sailing into the west of Marvala, where they founded a new homeland that they named Aal’valla, the Home of Contrition.  This band formed themselves into twelve Clans, in remembrance of the Deities they had once worshipped, and began to win back the favor of the Twelve.  They each of them dedicated themselves to bringing back the glory of the Aalveyn, and yet not to repeat the mistakes their forebears had made. </p>
<p>The Clans were thus named and aligned:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Strange was of Life.</p>
<p>Romanova was of Death.</p>
<p>Carter was of Good.</p>
<p>Malick was of Evil.</p>
<p>Coulson was of Light.</p>
<p>Rodriguez was of Darkness.</p>
<p>Sousa was of Order.</p>
<p>Zabo was of Chaos.</p>
<p>Lewis was of Magic.</p>
<p>Whitehall was of Science.</p>
<p>Martinelli was of Peace.</p>
<p>Quill was of Strife.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There were those of the Twelve who were reluctant to forgive; Darkness was one, as was Good and Order.  However, Magic was quick to grant her forgiveness, as was Science, wanting to have the Children they had brought into being back into the fold, as it were.  As the turnings of the seasons continued, the others of the Twelve, seeing how earnest and sincere the Aalveyn were in their pleadings, consented to bestow upon them their forgiveness as well, and their gifts, albeit in a much weakened status.  However, the Aalveyn were grateful, and settled happily for what the Twelve were to provide.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>From the Fourth Eternity</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>However, as the twelve Clans thrived under the renewed watchfulness of the Twelve, the Aalveyn that had continued to turn their backs away from the Deities diminished even further, until only a handful remained.  Finally seeing the error of their ways, they applied for their own forgiveness, yet the majority of the Twelve had long forsaken them.</p>
<p>Light, though, heard their pleas and made himself known to them.  The Aalveyn fell to the ground, grateful for his intercession, asking what they could do to receive absolution for their crimes.  Light took them to his heart, making them his people, wishing to make a place for them within the rest of the clans.</p>
<p>The Aalveyn rejoiced, although they were uncertain of their welcome, and decrying that they did not deserve to be accepted back amongst their people.  Light took pity upon them, and walked among them for a time.</p>
<p>One of the Aalveyn, a maid named Endra, grew in the affections of Light, and he took her as his own.  A child was born of their union; one with brilliant wings of white, much like those of the Snowbird that Light had created at the beginning of the World, marking the child as the first of the Tal’endi, the Children of the Air, whose lineage would ever be blessed by their progenitor.</p>
<p>Thus was the favor of Light proved, and the remnant of the lost Aalveyn was brought back into the arms of their kin, joining with the Clan Coulson, who had chosen Light as their own benefactor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>From the Fourth Eternity</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>There came a time when the Twelve grew once again restless in their need to create, and they gathered to converse on the matter.  They decided to not repeat the mistakes of the past, and chose not to make the next of the Races as long lived as the Aalveyn, or as insular as the Skell.  To create a peoples more even-handed, more able to adapt to their circumstances, and loyal to the Twelve that had made them.  When their conclave was complete, they gathered their power and began to weave together the pattern of this new people.</p>
<p>The next Race was called Human. </p>
<p>Thus began the Fifth Eternity.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>From the Fifth Eternity</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>For untold turnings, Humans grew and spread across the World, growing in maturity and knowledge and honoring the Twelve.  In so many ways they were closer to the Deities than the other Races; there were exceptions to that, as the Tal’endi were fiercely devoted to Light, even as their own Race grew in population, although there were never many of them yet the blood of Light ran strong within them. </p>
<p>The others of the Twelve saw the example of Light, and chose not to follow him in what he had done.  Instead, they remained aloof from their Children, although it was obvious that the Tal’endi were more blessed and more loyal to Light than anyone of the other Races were to the other of the Twelve.  Instead, the rest of the Twelve picked amongst their followers certain representatives that would become their High Priests, granting them certain knowledge of their patron to share with those who had not the bond that the Priests and Priestesses did with their God or Goddess. </p>
<p>However, there were Humans who became greedy to learn more of the Deities and their ways.  They named themselves Hydra, after the great beast of the mountains with many heads that one head could be removed and yet replaced by two others.  These Hydra began to play with their gifts, seeking more and more power, converting what they learned into something more, something unsavory.  Their meddling with nature brought down the wrath of Darkness, as they threatened the very creatures that she had created and nurtured, and she broke them upon the wall of their own hubris, ending their tyranny. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>From the Fifth Eternity</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There came a time of trouble between two powerful Mages, so terrible that it drew the attention of Magic to their battles. </p>
<p>One, a good man who only fought in defense of others, was dismayed at the devastation caused by the other, who cared not for the destruction he wrought in his attempts to defeat the other. He beseeched the Deity to aid him in protecting the people under his domain. </p>
<p>Magic heard, and sought counsel from her sister, Darkness, under whom the dominion of Earth fell, and thus was the Compact born: that, as long as there was a child of the blood of the line remain, the land would thrive, and none should conquer it. </p>
<p>The other Mage grew incensed by this, and cursed the Deity for her interference; Magic stripped him of the gifts she had granted him, and sent him out into the world powerless and friendless.  None of that cursed family line ever once returned to the scene of such embarrassment, while the blessed line continued, fortunate in great measure for its willingness to protect the innocent that lived upon their lands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>From the Fifth Eternity</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>In time, Humans began to fall away from the Twelve; not in overt ways, but in the small ways that matter only once they have gained so much in number that they become larger and larger.</p>
<p>Good saw this, and foretold a time when Humans, with whom such hope had resided, would forget the Twelve and create their own Deities to follow.  She grew angry, and sought to teach Humans their error, although it had not happened as yet.</p>
<p>In this, she took on the mantel of Vengeance. Even though it was not hers to take, and without the approval of her brethren.  This was the first and last occurrence of an action such as this, although Good would be known for it, forevermore, and those seeking vengeance for righteous purpose would pray to her for success.</p>
<p>The rest of the Twelve, seeing that she was stepping over a precipice that Good might not be able to save herself from, did the unconscionable: they banded together and stripped her of her power and placed her within an Avatar, a mortal form, exiling her to the World, to learn the lessons of humility that she had sought to teach Humans and had stepped over the bounds of her own identity.</p>
<p>Thus were the Twelve weakened for a time for, if one was injured, the others suffered as well.  This was the will of the One Above All, who had brought the Twelve into being and had linked them together so completely that they were in an infinite balance, whereas the opposite of the one would only grow stronger in power if their sibling was done injury, upsetting that balance.</p>
<p>Much Evil was visited upon the World in that dark time, until Good had seen the error of her ways and had returned to the arms of her siblings.</p>
<p>And yet was another lesson learned by Good: that Humans could not be coerced, that they had free will, and as a Human her own will had also been freed.  With that lesson, she spoke to her brethren, asking them to allow their Children to decide what they would, and to let the World go as it may.  That caused much consternation amongst the Twelve, and yet they soon understood what Good was explaining, and agreed.  Only Evil and Chaos dissented, but they did not have the support of the others of their number and thus did they capitulate to the decision made by the majority.  However, their one stipulation to consenting was that anyone who turned their backs completely on the Twelve would have their gifts taken away.  That made several of the Twelve uneasy; however, they could see the sense of it.</p>
<p>Good also learned the lesson of Love, and just how powerful an emotion that was amongst their Children; as well as equally powerful the emotion of Loss was as well.</p>
<p>Thus did the line of the Kings and Queens of Asgard begin, from the travails of Good and of her Love for a Human.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>A footnote on the end of the Fifth Eternity</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>There will come a time of troubles unlike any before, where Race would turn against Race, and brother against sister, until even the Deities themselves would go against their opposite.  Out of these troubles will arise champions, who will be the chosen of their Deities, destined to bring about the end of the troubles and to heal the land.  Their coming shall usher in the Sixth Eternity, a time of peace and balance that will last unto the end of the very Eternity itself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And thus ends the <em>Book of the Eternities.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Marcus Johnson jolted awake, sitting up abruptly and chest heaving, and tried to find out just what woke him up.</p>
<p>He was alone.  There was nothing in the room with him, except for the shadows that should have been comforting and yet, for some reason, felt threatening; as an Acolyte of Darkness, they shouldn’t have been bothering him the way they were.  Yet Marcus was <em>positive</em> something was wrong in those shadows that were usually like friends to him, but he couldn’t see <em>anything</em> that didn’t belong.</p>
<p>His eyes tracked the light coming in from the half-drawn curtains across the balcony doors, a thin sliver of white that reflected in the mirror on the tiny dressing table against the wall.  Marcus sighed, trying to get his heart back under control.  It must have been a dream, one that he couldn’t remember and yet was affecting just how he was seeing things.  It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened, after all.  His mother had been fond of teasing him, once he’d gotten older, about the times he’d thought he’d seen things after a particularly nasty nightmare when he’d always been on friendly terms with the night.</p>
<p>He was just settling back into bed, certain he’d just had too much cheese before bedtime, when a terrible howl sounded from outside his bedchamber.</p>
<p>It was a cry of ghastly joy from a throat that couldn’t <em>possibly</em> be Human. Marcus jumped out of bed, ignoring how cold the flagstones of the floor were against his bare feet, knowing that the sound had come from outside the castle. </p>
<p>Despite himself – or because he’d always been as curious as a cat, according to his mother – the Acolyte moved to the balcony doors, a tiny voice at the back of his mind telling him to run in the opposite direction and not go out onto the balcony.  Marcus couldn’t have listened to that voice even if he wanted to, needing to know just what had caused that horrific racket. </p>
<p>Practically tearing the curtains aside and flinging open the tall glass doors, Marcus stepped out onto the balcony, glancing around for the course of that howl, his heart pounding in a combination of fear and morbid curiosity.</p>
<p>His room was high up on the side of Castle Waverlyn, overlooking the clear waters of the lake far below.  The white moon, Snowdream, was at crescent, light glittering on the still Bedford Lake. That moon was low on the horizon which meant it was quite late at night…or early in the morning, depending on the point of view.  From where he was standing, Marcus couldn’t see any of the other three moons, but that could have been because they’d either already set or were on the other side of the castle from where his balcony was.  He thought he could just make out a bluish shadow cast over the white, which meant that Windstorm was somewhere behind him, but there was no sign of Wavewhisper of Firedance. </p>
<p>The night was still…almost too still, really.  Marcus might have been no more than sixteen turns, but he’d learned caution at a very early age from his hunter father, and knew the lack of sound just wasn’t <em>right</em>.  Even this high up, he should have been able to hear insects at least, or night birds, and yet it was so quiet he could hear himself breathing over the thundering of his heartbeat. </p>
<p>No, something was wrong.  He just couldn’t see what it was yet.</p>
<p>Despite it being late spring, it was chilly out, the sky almost completely cloudless.  Marcus shivered a little in his sleep shorts; that was usually all he wore to bed, so he couldn’t help being a little cold in the slight breeze. </p>
<p>Glancing to the east, the Acolyte could make out the sharp outline of the Stuyvesant Mountains, their peaks glowing a little whiter under the white moon, showing pristine snowcaps against the deep purple-blue of the night sky and the glorious spreading of stars.  Something was moving, he could see it now, and Marcus narrowed his eyes in order to sharpen his sight, one of his gifts from Darkness. </p>
<p>The shadows were <em>odd</em>.  They certainly didn’t look as if they were cast by anything Human.  They ebbed and flowed along the foothills, coming toward the castle all in a rush, and Marcus was about to go back inside and let the guards know what he’d seen when a shadow passed in front of Snowdream, cutting enough light off that it drew his attention almost immediately. Reflexively, his eyes were drawn upward…</p>
<p>And his jaw dropped in sheer awe at what he saw.</p>
<p>It was a Dragon.</p>
<p>In the pearly glow of the crescent moon, Marcus could see that the Dragon’s scales were a brilliant crimson, the color of blood.  Fire’s spawn, his mind supplied, one of the children of Strife.  But what was it doing here?  Dragons usually stayed in their home country of Sokovia. He couldn’t even begin to guess what had brought one so far from its home.</p>
<p>The Dragon arced gracefully across the night sky, the hideous cry once again echoing over Waverlyn Castle. Marcus didn’t know what it had in mind until, with a loud rushing sound, a bright gout of flame erupted from the creature’s mouth to strike somewhere within the castle grounds.</p>
<p>Marcus actually screamed in terror.  Nothing could withstand a Dragon’s flame.  Even stone melted under the magically-intense heat generated by those near-immortal, Deity created beasts.  What had brought a Dragon’s wrath down on them, the Acolyte had no idea, but it would take its fury out on anything that moved.  No one would be safe.</p>
<p>The young man stumbled back into his room, slamming the balcony doors behind him.  Everything in him wanted to hide somewhere, <em>anywhere</em>, in an attempt to get away from that Dragon.  Yet, something stronger wanted him to go out there and find his Mistress, to warn the people that had to have been as shocked as he was, to help anyone who would have been injured under the Dragon’s assault. </p>
<p>Marcus couldn’t say where the sudden urge to find his Mistress, his teacher, came from, only that she would know what was going on.  She was a High Priestess of Darkness, and the Queen of Waverlyn; she would know what to do.</p>
<p>With that thought, he was at his wardrobe, pulling out clothes at random.  Marcus would go to the throne room; that would be where his Mistress would be, where they would be planning their strategy.  He might not have been a courtier, but the Acolyte had become awfully familiar with castle politics since he’d been sent there from the Cathedral where he’d taken his first lessons, and having as his Mistress the Queen of Waverlyn was the sure way to become indoctrinated into all that sort of thing.</p>
<p>Marcus found himself wearing some of the traveling clothes that had come with him from the Cathedral school; after his last growth spurt, the trousers were a little short but he seriously doubted anyone would notice.  After all, who would when the castle was obviously being attacked?  Besides, he’d just stuff his trouser legs into his boots, the better to get to the long knife he kept in the sheath in his right boot. </p>
<p>He was just pulling out his Acolyte cloak – it would identify him to any guards that he was the Queen’s student, and get him practically anywhere in the castle – when he heard noises coming from the corridor, as the residents in this section of the castle began to panic at whatever was going on.  Really, Marcus couldn’t blame them, because it was a Dragon attacking, and that should be enough to panic anyone.  He was feeling a bit panicked himself.</p>
<p>There was a sharp knock on his door.  Fastening the cloak around his throat, the Acolyte went to answer it, guessing that someone had been sent to fetch him.  He might not have been anyone overly important in the hierarchy within Waverlyn Castle, but Marcus <em>was</em> the Queen’s Acolyte, and his place was by her side.</p>
<p>Throwing open the heavy door, Marcus paid no attention to the rushing masses outside.  Instead, his eyes were on the slight form of the woman who was waiting patiently for him on the other side. </p>
<p>She was dressed from head to foot in black, looking sleek and deadly in the lamplight that had Marcus blinking a little after having been navigating the near darkness of his bedchamber.  She was a little shorter than Marcus himself, her head just reaching his chin.  Her face was obscured by a black ceramic mask, a single red hourglass symbol on the right cheek; the only part of her that wasn’t hidden by clothing and mask was the long twist of blonde hair that had flopped over her shoulder, and her delicately pointed Aalveyn ears. </p>
<p>He hadn’t been expecting to be sent for by the Queen’s Widow herself.</p>
<p>The Widow was his Mistress’ sworn bodyguard, of a creed of warriors that dated back to the Fourth Eternity, to a time when only the Aalveyn and the Skell walked Marvala.  They were often trained from the moment their gifts manifested, theirs the way of Death, trusted above all others once their oaths had been given.  To have been gifted a Widow was the ultimate in respect, from what Marcus had observed during his time in Court, by a treaty that had been made between Aal’valla and Waverlyn in ages past.</p>
<p>“Shouldn’t you be with Her Majesty?” Marcus blurted, then cringed at how it sounded. </p>
<p>Despite the mask obscuring her features, he could tell the Widow was amused.  “I am here at Her Majesty’s request,” she answered, her voice cool and yes, she was amused.  “She felt I would be the best to navigate through the chaos of the attack.”</p>
<p>That made sense, and Marcus couldn’t help but be touched by his Mistress’ caring enough for his safety to send the one person who should have been protecting <em>her</em>.  He stepped forward, but the Widow put a gloved hand in the center of his chest, stopping him.  “Don’t wear the cloak.  It will mark you as a high-value target, and you could be taken as a hostage.”</p>
<p>Well, Marcus didn’t consider himself high-value <em>anything</em>, but he did as she requested.  He removed the cloak very reluctantly, not wanting to set it aside since he’d worked so hard to earn it.  Still, he wasn’t about to argue with the Widow over a piece of cloth, no matter how much it meant to him.</p>
<p>The Widow said nothing else, instead leading him down the corridor toward the stairs that led into the lower levels.  The residential areas were on the upper floors of the main section of Waverlyn Castle, and they would have been jostled if not for the fact that the bodyguard cut a swathe through the frightened bystanders who’d had the same idea as they did, to get to the lowermost sections of the castle, either to discover a way to escape or to find out just what in the Havens was going on.  Honestly, Marcus didn’t understand why they didn’t stay in their rooms if they didn’t want to make themselves targets, but then there he was, following the deadliest person in the entire Royal Court, who was leading him he didn’t know where because his Mistress had sent for him.  So maybe he had no right to judge.</p>
<p>Instead of following the rest of the crowd once they reached the level of the throne room and meeting areas of the castle, the Widow pulled Marcus out of the throng and into the main hall, heading toward the throne room.  The throne room itself wasn’t on the first level; it was on the floor above the entryway and public areas of the castle, down a wide corridor lined with the portraits of the former Kings and Queens of Waverlyn.  Marcus usually thought all those dead rulers staring down at him just a little creepy, but in that tick he ignored them all, happy to follow the Widow to wherever she was taking him…which did indeed seem to be the throne room.   </p>
<p>However, they didn’t get very far when screaming began to echo down the corridor from the level below. </p>
<p>The Acolyte stopped in his tracks, turning back toward the stairwell, staring in horror even though he couldn’t see anything.  People were down there, being killed by <em>something</em>, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.  He was simply a student, and he was only armed with a knife and, while he had his gifts, any thought of them vanished from his brain.  There were soldiers and knights who were fighting and dying, and there was nothing he could do to stop it…</p>
<p>The Widow tugged at his sleeve in order to get him to move.  Marcus took two stumbling steps backward, eyes still on the staircase, and that was why he saw it…</p>
<p>It was tall, with grey skin and a head that didn’t look even remotely Human, a wide mouth, no visible nose, and small, beady eyes.  It wore dull armor accented with a yellow metal that might have been gold, and was carrying a long spear with a barbed tip.  It crouched as it stalked toward them, hissing when it caught sight of Marcus staring at it in sheer terror.</p>
<p>Marcus couldn’t breathe, his heart was slamming so hard in his chest.  His knees were shaking so hard he should have been down on the floor, but sheer determination was keeping him on his feet.  He’d never felt such mind-numbing fear, not even when he’d had to face down that pack of wolves as a child; but then, the wolves hadn’t really intended on hurting him, not with his gifts coming from Darkness herself, she who’d brought all animals into the world during the Third Eternity.  All of the Deity’s followers had that sort of immunity in various degrees, even if their abilities weren’t druidic in nature. </p>
<p>Before he could even react, the Widow was moving to attack whatever it was that had come up from down below.  The Acolyte watched, mesmerized, as the bodyguard moved so fluidly it was like he was watching water streaming over river stones, her body easily avoiding the blows of the creature and its spear.  With a sudden flurry of movement, the Widow managed to rip the very weapon from the thing’s four-fingered hands and thrust it into a gap in the armor of its stomach, twisting the spear viciously as it screamed, the cry even more horrific than the Dragon’s had been. </p>
<p>Marcus might not have been a fighter, but even he knew that noise was going to bring more of those creatures running.</p>
<p>Still holding the spear, its blade dripping green ichor down its length, the Widow strode past him, calling his name as she passed, breaking him out of his stunned horror. </p>
<p>Marcus had no choice but to go along with her. </p>
<p>It wasn’t that far down the wide hallway to the throne room.  The enormous double doors were wide open, and the Widow didn’t do what Marcus expected her to and go right on in; instead, she stopped just short, holding the spear diagonally in front of her, peering around the door frame first.  She was checking to see if the coast was clear, and Marcus plastered his back against the wall next to where she was standing, trusting her to watch out for him.  But, surely, nothing had gotten that far up into the castle yet?  From the shouts and sounds of weapons clashing drifting upward, the fighting was still pretty heavy on the level below, and that…thing, had just managed to find its way up the stairs, hadn’t it?</p>
<p>The way must have been clear, because the Widow stepped around the corner and into the throne room.  Marcus followed her, lurking just in her shadow even though she was shorter than he was she was so much more deadly than he ever would be. </p>
<p>Marcus had lost track of how many times he’d been inside the throne room.  It was an enormous chamber, wider than it was long, the walls lined with tapestries depicting many of the tales from the <em>Book of the Eternities </em>in richly colored threads and brightly glittering stones.  The thrones sat upon a raised dais, six steps up to them in honor of the six pairs making up the Twelve Deities of Marvala, each step decorated with the sigil of one of the Twelve and their opposite: Life and Death, Good and Evil, Darkness and Light, Peace and Strife, Order and Chaos, and Magic and Science. </p>
<p>An enormous stained glass window took up a large section of wall behind the thrones and, when the sun was up, it glowed with an almost holy aura and painted the stone floor with the colors of its design: that of the Twelve surrounding the Sun, which represented the One Above All. </p>
<p>Now, however, the carefully pieced together sections were dark…except for a flickering glow that had to be coming from the now-burning gardens beyond, where the Dragon had breathed out destruction upon the castle itself.</p>
<p>The throne room wasn’t empty. </p>
<p>Her Majesty, Queen Edith of Waverlyn, was there, looking regal despite only wearing her nightdress and her brown hair in a messy braid and her feet bare, the brown gemstone on her forehead – the sign of her connection to the Deity – glittering in the candlelight almost like a third eye.  In her arms was the Crown Prince, Francis, the little boy’s blond head tucked against her shoulder, little arms around her neck.  There was a smudge of blood on his face, matching the blood on the Queen’s dressing gown, but neither of them appeared to be hurt.</p>
<p>There were a couple of others from the Royal Council there as well; Marcus recognized the Chamberlain, as well as a couple of the minor lords and a few ladies-in-waiting, each one of them as terrified as Marcus himself was.  A handful of guards were standing at attention around the Queen and Prince, their weapons out and ready, but Marcus had to wonder just how much of a chance they’d have against those…things…that were attacking.  Certainly, there was no way they’d survive against the Dragon, not even his Mistress, no matter how powerful and in the favor of Darkness she was.   Dragons were the children of Fire, created by Strike himself, and the Acolyte didn’t think much could stand against one on a rampage.</p>
<p>Queen Edith looked relieved the beat she caught sight of him.  “Marcus,” she called softly. </p>
<p>He bustled to her side.  “Mistress.”  He was so very glad to see her, there was no way he could articulate it.  He wanted to hug her, but that wouldn’t have been proper and undignified.</p>
<p>“He’s made a deal with the Lord of the Chitauri,” the Widow spoke up, ghosting to the Queen’s side.  “I killed a Chitauri in the hallway.”</p>
<p>Marcus shivered.  He’d heard stories of the Chitauri, mostly along the lines of threats against him by his parents if he didn’t behave.  He’d mostly rolled his eyes at them when he’d gotten older, thinking they were just bogeymen from old tales.  But now…damn, he should have listened to his folks when they’d tried to tell him about them.</p>
<p>“So the guards told me, although they didn’t know what the creatures attacking were,” the Queen sighed.  “How he managed to get Loki Laufeyson to join in his crusade…”</p>
<p>“And also Garrett the Red,” the Widow added.  “The Dragon is easily identifiable if you know where to look.”</p>
<p>For some reason, the Queen didn’t look overly surprised by all the bad news.  “But who?” Marcus blurted, needing to understand.  “Who would attack the castle?”  He just couldn’t imagine it. </p>
<p>His Mistress looked up at him with sad eyes.  “The King had many indiscretions before marrying me.  Little did he know one would come back to haunt us all.”</p>
<p>The Acolyte frowned.  Yes, he knew that King Harold hadn’t exactly kept it in his trousers for a long time before Queen Edith had come along, and there were rumors of illegitimate children that he wasn’t sure he’d believed.  But, if what his Mistress was saying was true – and he had no reason to doubt her – then one of those rumored children was the one who’d attacked the castle with his allies. </p>
<p>“Marcus,” the Queen said, “I need to ask you to do something for me.”</p>
<p>“Anything, Mistress,” he vowed.  She was his teacher, his High Priestess, and was almost as important to him as his family had been, before he’d come been apprenticed at the Cathedral…and then assigned to the Queen.  Even as scared as he was, he would gladly walk into the middle of a battle for her and, since there currently <em>was</em> a battle going on, was a distinct possibility.</p>
<p>“I need you to take Francis and escape before the Chitauri overwhelm the castle.”</p>
<p>He was startled by the request. “But I should make my stand with you!”</p>
<p>Her smile was gentle.  “No, you dying here won’t do anyone any good, and what I’m asking is far more important than that.”</p>
<p>Yes, she had a point.  Queen Edith was entrusting to him the safety of the Royal Heir, the one who could take back the kingdom if it were lost.  Prince Francis was the future of Waverlyn, and she was right…this request was far more important than dying by her side at the hands of whoever was coming.</p>
<p>“Yes, Mistress.”  He bowed deeply before her, acknowledging the request, then straightened once more, meeting her eyes.  “I will do as you bid.”</p>
<p>Despite the weight of the Prince in her arms, Queen Edith kissed Marcus’ cheek, having to raise up a little on her toes to do so.  It made him blush.  “You are a good man, Marcus Johnson.  There will be trials ahead, but you will face them, and I have every faith in you that you will conquer them in time.”</p>
<p>That sounded like some sort of prophecy, but Marcus knew that wasn’t within his Mistress’ power, even though she was a High Priestess; he thought it must have been just knowing what would come if whoever it was managed to complete the coup they were attempting. </p>
<p>“My faithful Widow.”</p>
<p>The Widow stepped forward, bowing.  “Your Majesty.”</p>
<p>“You are to help Marcus and Francis to escape.  You know all the secret ways in and out of the castle, and you will need to go quietly if you are to get away safely.”</p>
<p>Even with the mask hiding it, Marcus could tell she was uncertain.  “My place is by your side, as I have sworn.”</p>
<p>The Queen smiled sadly.  “And your duty is to obey my commands.”  It was said without any force, as if she was just stating a quiet fact. </p>
<p>The warrior nodded, dropping to one knee and resting her right hand over her heart, a sign of her obedience and respect for the woman she’d long served.  “By your command, My Queen.”</p>
<p>Out in the corridor, the unmistakable sound of boots on stone began to echo toward them.  The few within the throne room began to mill around in terror, and Marcus wanted to do the same thing.  But, his Mistress had given him a duty, and he was going to do it to the best of his ability.</p>
<p>Or die trying.</p>
<p>It took a single beat to pass the Prince to him, the three-turns old child whimpering and clutching at his mother, not wanting to leave her.  Queen Edith soothed him, managing to get the little boy into Marcus’ arms.  The Acolyte, who had very little experience with children of any sort, was suddenly more terrified of the Prince than he was of the approaching Chitauri.</p>
<p>Prince Francis wrapped his arms around Marcus’ neck like he had his mother’s, making little hiccupping noises as he buried his face in the Acolyte’s collar.  Marcus had both hands full or else he would have stroked his back or something, remembering that his mother used to do the same thing to him when he’d had a nightmare. </p>
<p>He was aware that this was quite possibly the biggest thing he’d ever been entrusted with.  It was the fate of a kingdom, of a family, and he would do everything in his power to prove he could do it. </p>
<p>Something in his expression had the Queen giving him an approving nod.  “Marcus, dear Acolyte, there is more you need to know.  I’m only sorry it had to come to this.”</p>
<p>Confused, the young man opened his mouth to reply.  He didn’t get the chance.</p>
<p>The Queen rested both hands on the sides of his face, thumbs touching his temples. </p>
<p>Images and knowledge exploded through his mind, and he almost dropped the Prince in shock.  It was only the Widow helping him that kept him on his feet as what the Queen was giving him sought to overwhelm him.  He wasn’t sure how she was doing it; she was no mind witch, no Knower…she shouldn’t be able to <em>do</em> that sort of thing. </p>
<p>And yet, she was. </p>
<p>It would only be later, once they were out of the castle and nursing the wounds that both he and the Widow had received in their escape, that Marcus Johnson would understand.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em>Thirty Turns Later…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Clint Barton sat bolt upright, the blanket that had been covering him tangled about his legs, his heart thundering in his ears and breath rasping harshly in his chest.  It was the same nightmare, each and every time, and familiarity did nothing to mitigate the horror of the visions that had plagued him since he was a child.</p><p>He scrubbed his hands over his sweating face, getting his breathing back under control.  He didn’t have the nightmare every night; it always came when he least expected it, and sometimes he would go longer than a four-ten without it recurring.  There had once been a break of nearly a complete turn and Clint had, at the time, believed he’d been rid of it for good.  That had been a <em>really</em> wrong assumption on his part.</p><p>As usual, the dream faded quickly.  Clint could really never recall any of the details much after he woke up.  It was as if his brain simply couldn’t cope with the horrific imagery, and would block it out almost immediately.  No matter how hard he tried, he could never bring the actual visions back.  Only the horrible emotions behind them would stay with him.  He thought that made it somehow worse, because if he could at least <em>examine</em> what was scaring him so badly maybe he could deal with it all in some other way than dreading the next time it happened.</p><p>But, nope.  No chance of that.  Clint just had to suffer whenever the nightmare decided to hit him, and hope that he’d be able to get a good nights’ sleep when it didn’t.</p><p>Sighing, he pulled the twisted blanket away from his legs, glad for once that Lucky wasn’t sleeping right on top of him.  Lucky was smart, though, and after the first time Clint had lurched awake and knocked him off the bed they’d been sharing at the time, Lucky had learned it was better that he usually sleep somewhere else.</p><p>And there he was, curled up a few handspans away, nearer the last dying embers of the campfire that had been built before everyone had turned in for the night.  Clint’s movements had the dog raising his head, giving the mercenary a gimlet glare from his one eye, as if Clint being up at this mark was personally offensive.  Lucky had been with him for three turns, after the mercenary had found him in an alley where someone had left the dog to die, and he made the perfect companion to someone who was considered an expert hunter and mercenary…even if the mutt could be a disdainful and lazy bastard when the urge hit.</p><p>No one else in the camp was moving, so at least Clint’s nightmare hadn’t disturbed anyone but his dog.  Thank the Deities.  He hated having to explain it to near strangers.</p><p>From experience, he knew he wouldn’t be getting anymore sleep, so he gathered up his weapons and decided to take a walk about the camp.  There would be at least one sentry on duty; when Clint had been hired on to be part of the escort for this caravan, he’d insisted on that one thing, that there would always be someone on watch when the rest of the group was sleeping.  At least the caravan owner, Lady Helen Cho, had seen the logic of it, and hadn’t argued.  The one time his advice <em>had</em> been ignored, on a trip five turns ago, the camp had been attacked by raiders and Clint had taken a knife wound to his shooting arm before they’d managed to fight off the raiders and save the goods that the caravan had been carrying.</p><p>It was the darkest mark before dawn, and all four moons had set, throwing everything into almost complete blackness, with only the glowing embers lighting the night.  That didn’t bother Clint, since his eyesight was sharp even when there wasn’t any light at all, a gift from Darkness herself.  He could see perfect well even in the deepest cave, and farther than anyone he knew.  The mercenary was proud of that fact and thankful that Darkness had chosen him for her gifts.</p><p>Even if a lot of people insisted the Deity was dying.  Clint didn’t believe it for a single tick, not with the evidence of what he’d been granted, and what he’d seen for himself in his travels.  Yes, it did seem as if the Deity’s gifts weren’t as plentiful, and her opposite, Light, was getting a little more powerful, but that didn’t mean Darkness was <em>dying</em>.  It only meant she was weakening for some reason. </p><p>It was most likely a reason he didn’t want to think about.  Not that he’d ever know anything about the Twelve’s comings and goings.</p><p>Once his weapons were settled into place, and his ever-present bow in hand, Clint began to make a circle of the camp, Lucky accompanying him with only a little grumble of complaint.  Clint rested a hand on the dog’s head, giving him a rub, silently thanking him for being there beside him.  The mercenary might not have gained anything even vaguely druidic from his patron Goddess, but he could tell Lucky was mollified by the attention.</p><p>Everything was quiet, only the sounds of night insects echoing over the clearing they’d set up camp in.  They were just off the main road between the University and Morgantown, perhaps three days out from their destination, which were the markets of Morgantown. There was nothing around them but grasslands and the place where they’d stayed for the night, the faint shadows of the Stuyvesant Mountains to the south and east. </p><p>Clint had chosen this place to stay for the night because it had been a campsite before, and there would be less a chance of accidentally catching the dried summer grass on fire since the vaguely circular space had been cleared already.  There had even been an old firepit ready for them, a sign that this was a fairly popular spot to set up in.</p><p>This wasn’t the first time the mercenary had led a caravan there, so he was familiar with the territory, after all.</p><p>The sentry that had volunteered for watch at this time was awake and aware, and gave Clint a small salute as he approached.  The mercenary was glad to know that they were taking his precautions seriously; some caravans didn’t.  But the roads were growing increasingly dangerous, had been for the last ten turns or so, and it was becoming harder and harder to get between places without some sort of confrontation. </p><p>From the rumors Clint had heard in his travels, it was yet another symptom of whatever was going on in the Waverlyn throne, that King Charles was more and more mentally unbalanced, his laws becoming restrictive and nonsensical, ever since his heir had been found dead from some sort of unnatural causes that had never been adequately explained, and his Queen had committed suicide because of it.  Taxes had been raised to almost an untenable level, with smaller businesses going under and the people paying more than half of what they made in wages.  Clint understood; he was a tax-paying citizen, after all, and it was getting harder and harder to make do with what he could charge with his escort duties.  It didn’t matter that he was a master mercenary and hunter; he could only ask for what his customers could afford, and that amount was becoming smaller and smaller with each passing turn.</p><p>Clint had been considering moving on to another country, but from what he’d heard things were getting bad all over.  There’d been trouble in most of the other countries; if even half of the rumors going around were true, it was pretty nasty out there.  Perhaps it would be better if he <em>did</em> stay where he was; at least he was a citizen here, and not an outsider like he would be anywhere else.  The only place he’d heard wasn’t all that bad off were the Shield Islands, but apparently their long-serving Governor was getting into tyrannical territory, so…</p><p>Havens, he couldn’t even <em>try</em> Brittanium, Wakanda, or Aal’valla; they weren’t letting people in much at all, for various reasons.  Politics seemed to be the motivating factors in the first two, and the Aalveyn were just plain prejudiced against Races they thought were inferior to them…which was pretty much everyone else on Marvala. </p><p>Well, not <em>every</em> Aalveyn was that way.  He’d run into some that were downright open-minded, having fled their own country for any variety of reasons…including said prejudice.  He even had a really good friend who was <em>halva’</em> Aalveyn, half Human and half Aalveyn, which never would have happened in Aal’valla itself because of all that ‘being of pure blood’ crap they believed in. </p><p>Hm.  Speaking of his <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn friend, maybe after this job he’d look Kate up again, see how she was doing.  The last he’d heard was that her father had finally disinherited her, which he was certain hadn’t disappointed Kate at all if it were true.  Derek Bishop was even more haughty than the Aalveyn lady he’d managed to marry…which hadn’t been difficult, according to Kate, because her mother had been quite nice; Kate had confided in him that she never could understand what had drawn her mother to her father in the first place.  Kate’s mother had died suddenly, saddling Bishop with a half-blood daughter he couldn’t even <em>begin</em> to relate to.</p><p>Not that he’d even tried all that hard.  It was no wonder Kate had left as soon as she could.  And Kate was another example of why the Deity was still around, because Darkness had blessed her with gifts that were almost an equal to Clint’s own.</p><p>Clint had made the circuit of the camp and was about to go back to the firepit and rekindle the flames, the better to be ready for when everyone else woke up and breakfast was being prepared, when suddenly every single insect went silent.</p><p>Beside him, Lucky froze, even has Clint was pulling an arrow out and setting it to his bow’s string.  Across the camp, the horses were rousing.  They’d been quiet and sleepy when he’d passed by them, and one of them whinnied loudly as the sound of startled stamping echoed over the campsite.</p><p>Clint glanced around the area, knowing that something was spooking the horses and Lucky, and was making the insects go quiet.  He might have been a mercenary, but he was also a hunter, another gift from Darkness in her aspect as the Great Huntress.  It was where his ability with the bow came from, as well as his eyesight, and his ability to track and move silently through even the thickest brush. </p><p>He really <em>was</em> proof that Darkness was still around, even if she wasn’t bestowing gifts as much anymore.  She’d done just fine by him, and he would always be grateful.  She would get his praise no matter what.</p><p>The faint breeze blew against his bare arms, raising gooseflesh and making him feel exposed as he stood there, not moving except for the turning of his head as he searched for whatever it was that had to have been stalking them.</p><p>The racket being made by the horses was rousing the rest of the caravan, and the ruckus the others were causing was making Clint feel twitchy.  He hissed, trying to get their attention, to get them to shut up so he could rely on his senses to locate the threat, but they weren’t paying him any attention whatsoever.  Because, this <em>was</em> danger, there was no doubt in his mind.  He needed to locate it before it struck the idiots who didn’t know enough to shut the fuck up when it was needed, instead of making enough noise to draw whatever it was even closer.</p><p>Not seeing anything on ground level, Clint raised his eyes to the heavens.  The sky was clear, stars bright against the deep blue-purple of the night, the constellation of the Huntress low on the horizon and the moons already set, a sure sign that dawn wasn’t that far away.  But, whatever was out there, wasn’t going to give them that long, was going to strike in the darkness. </p><p>The worried sounds of the traders and escorts suddenly cut out, for which Clint was very grateful.  Someone must have shown some sense and told everyone else to be quiet.  He’d have to figure out who that was when this was all over and thank them for it.</p><p>There was movement at the corner of his eye, a shape that was blotting out the stars.  Clint spun in that direction, bow pointed upward, seeing the shadow of something even darker than the night sky, large and silent with near-still wings as it glided along the air currents.</p><p>Then there was a second.</p><p>And a third.</p><p>Clint had counted six by the time he realized what he was seeing.</p><p>Deathstrikes.</p><p>He’d faced a single deathstrike before, and he’d come out of the confrontation with a scar on his thigh from a wound that he’d almost bled out from and the deathstrike dead at his feet.  Then, he’d been caught by total surprise, but now…he knew they were coming. </p><p>But deathstrikes didn’t usually hunt in packs.</p><p>Eyes tracking them as they circled closer to the camp, Clint let an arrow fly, trusting his skill and his sight to hit his target.</p><p>It did, and the deathstrike shrieked in agony as it plummeted to the ground.</p><p>He heard someone shout, “Deathstrike!” when it hit.  Clint knew it was dead, knew his arrow had flown true, but he hoped there’d been at least one person in the group who’d had the common sense to make sure. </p><p>Then he had another arrow nocked and loosed, and a third. </p><p>Both struck their targets, sending two more deathstrikes to the earth.</p><p>However, the creatures now knew that someone was taking shots at them, and were wheeling out of range.  Clint cursed, keeping his eye on the flying horrors, waiting for one of them to drop closer.  If he could take them all out before they landed, it would be for the best.  If he let them get close enough for any of the monsters to scream…</p><p>Lucky growled low beside him, a warning that Clint understood.  He turned to the left a little, shooting before he’d gotten fully around, and the deathstrike that had been flying low – seven, <em>seven</em> fucking deathstrikes – was down for the count.  Clint thanked the Deity for his dog and his ability to never miss what he aimed at, because it had almost been within screaming range.  He would have been down for the count if that happened. </p><p>A deathstrike’s scream was its primary weapon, as well as its terrifying animal intelligence and its sharp claws.  It wasn’t Human smart, but it was cunning, but they never hunted in packs, not like this, nor did they go after large parties like theirs.  Deathstrikes were solitary creatures and only sought out individuals they could easily overpower with either their scream or their strength.</p><p>One of the guards must have had the brilliant idea to start shooting, because the unmistakable sound of a crossbow firing reached his ears.  If they weren’t in range of his bow, then they certainly weren’t for a crossbow, and besides the archer very much doubted whoever it was had even been able to see what he was aiming at.  It had to have been more of a warning shot, like that was going to work on the things. </p><p>“Hold steady,” he hissed without looking behind him.  “You’re not going to be able to hit them, so don’t even try.” </p><p>“But –”</p><p>The idiot was shushed, thank the Twelve.  Clint wasn’t in the mood to be argued with, especially when he was right.</p><p>“Get in a circle,” he ordered.  “Someone get the fire back up.  We need the light if we’re going to get them all.”</p><p>“How many are there?” It was the Lady Helen Cho, the woman who’d hired him, who was asking. </p><p>It was an intelligent question, so Clint answered it.  “There are three more, riding whatever updrafts there are and keeping just out of range of my bow.”</p><p>“I can’t see a bloody thing,” one of the others scoffed.  Clint thought it was that Rollins asshole.  “How can <em>you</em>?”  Yeah, that didn’t sound at all disdainful.  What had he expected from a jerk with so much black in his aura, anyway?</p><p><em>Bastard</em>.</p><p>“He’s a Hunter,” Lady Helen growled.  “He knows what he’s doing.”</p><p>Well, Clint was glad of the confidence, but he wasn’t quite sure it was warranted.</p><p>“Deathstrikes don’t hunt like this.”  It was one of the guards, a man named Mike Peterson, commented.   “But I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”</p><p>Clint had worked with Peterson before a couple of times; and yes, there was a reason Clint had liked Peterson almost immediately upon meeting him, besides the fact that his aura was bright and cheerful Fire, not raging like most fighters but more like the sun.  He was willing to bet Peterson had been the one who’d shushed the camp.   He had that sort of common sense.</p><p>Abruptly, the three darker shadows against the sky split apart, coming at the camp in three different directions.  Clint cried out a warning, sending yet another arrow up toward the nearest approaching deathstrike, once again hitting his target. </p><p>One of the deathstrikes began to scream.</p><p>It was all Clint could do not to drop his bow and put his hands over his ears in order to protect them.  All he could hear was that horrific sound, lancing deep into his mind, causing the small, instinctive part of his brain to gibber in fear.  He could barely hear Lucky howling, and Clint knew his more sensitive canine hearing would be bearing the brunt of that awful shrieking, a sound that was meant to paralyze a deathstrike’s prey so it could kill it with a minimum of struggle.  While he couldn’t hear anyone else, he knew they would be suffering as much as he was, and he very much doubted that many of them were still on their feet; chances were, they were running away in absolute terror.</p><p>Not that Clint blamed them.  He wanted to do that himself.</p><p>It was sheer stubbornness that kept his feet planted as the scream rolled over him like an inexorable wave.  He needed to get it to <em>stop</em>, or else it could do irreparable damage to his hearing.  His eyes searched the sky, and he caught sight of a deathstrike shadow, its bat-like wings extended as it dropped toward the camp, getting closer and closer, the scream louder and louder.</p><p>With hands that should have been shaking in terror, but were still remarkably steady, the hunter took the shot.</p><p>The scream ended with a gurgle as yet another deathstrike fell to the ground.</p><p>The last deathstrike seemed to get the hint, and was up and escaping.  Clint had yet another arrow out and flying before he could even think about the fact that his ears were ringing and the sound of Lucky’s cries were muffled as if the dog were under about ten blankets. </p><p>The last deathstrike was plummeting to the earth as Clint’s knees buckled, and he collapsed, managing to keep a hold on his bow even as he went down hard. </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Phillipjaraynan’coulson stood on the wheelhouse of his vessel, the trading ship <em>Lola’s Dream, </em>as his pilot navigated the ship expertly into Morgantown harbor. </p><p>He and his crew had been to Morgantown many times in the past, bringing in goods from the Shield Islands to the marketplace for sale and trade.  It had always been an excellent cover; a lot of really good gossip could be had at the market and in the taverns, and meetings with sources could be arranged easily and no one would pay the least bit of attention to the Aalveyn captain and his mismatched crew since they were just one more out of dozens. </p><p>It also made them quite a bit of coin, so there was that as well.</p><p>Phil didn’t consider himself a spy, really.  Yes, he used his position as an accredited shipowner and trader to go about asking questions that a lot of other people wouldn’t have been able to get away with, but that usually just meant he was considered as big a gossip as anyone else coming into port after some time away.  And yes, he had contacts that were dedicated to getting into the truth of any rumors that might have been floating around at any given time, and to report back what they discovered.  But he didn’t go about doing the actual spying himself, nor did his crew.  He couldn’t help it if he had a friendly face that just begged people to share information with him, and made friends fairly easily, with a crew that was pretty damned personable all on their own.</p><p>This time, however, he had a specific mission.  It wasn’t the first one they’d ever had, but it was probably the most important according to his friend, Nick.  Not that Nick had given him any detail, but then the man could be unbelievably secretive when he wanted to be.  Which made sense with him being one of the few remaining Priests of Darkness in the world, who was more along the lines of the Lady of Secrets persona for the Deity.  Phil had learned a long time ago that there was no good trying to pry anything out of Nick Fury.  It never turned out well for the pry-ee.</p><p>The fears that were being whispered about was that Darkness was dying.  Phil was taking that particular tale with a very large grain of salt, especially since Nick would know if his Deity was fading that badly.  In fact, the one time someone had mentioned it within Nick and Phil’s hearing, his friend had laughed and claimed it wasn’t true at all, and to stop spreading that shit around or he’d give the spreader a punch in the eye.</p><p>And then there was Daisy, the clanless <em>halva’Aalveyn</em> who’d somehow managed to adopt him without him noticing, and who was an accredited Druid once he’d seen to getting her the requisite training.  She was pretty impressive, with her ability to speak to animals and to move the very earth itself, so she was still one of Darkness’ own.  Phil sincerely doubted that she’d have that sort of ability at all if the Goddess was waning.</p><p>Then there were Daisy’s pickpocketing skills, but those didn’t have anything to do with the Deity.</p><p>But, there were those of Light who were only growing in power, which showed there was an imbalance of sorts among the Twelve.  Even Phil himself, who’d known he was powerful ever since he’d being a youngling in Clan Coulson, had felt it deep within his soul.  He thought about the Maelstrom Harp in his cabin, the one thing he’d taken with him when he’d left his home and his clan, understanding that he had been the only one in generations who’d been able to use it.  Even that ability had increased in just the last thirty turns. </p><p>“Captain!” Davis, the Chaos Mage who was currently on lookout up on the mast, shouted. </p><p>Phil glanced up, to see Davis point toward the port then make several broad hand movements that the Aalveyn interpreted easily as docking instructions.  He waved the man down to the deck, and he watched as Davis swung out of the crow’s nest with alacrity.  It wasn’t even a full tick before he was down and making his way toward the wheelhouse. </p><p>“Pier Ten is open,” he reported the moment he joined Phil.  “The green flag is up.”</p><p>The captain turned to Trip.  “You heard the man.”</p><p>“Aye,” the pilot said, smirking.  He knew the harbor as well as Phil did, and didn’t need any directions to get to the open pier.  He’d even been known to cut off ships that were making to the same dock as they were; the pilot was pretty ruthless at times.  It was one of the many traits in his pilot that Phil was impressed with.</p><p>To be honest, Phil was impressed by every single one of his crew.  They might not have been a traditional sort of trading vessel, but they each knew their jobs and could do them quite well.  Which, for having just one actual accredited sailor on board, was amazing if anyone thought about it.</p><p>Still, each and every one of them had been hand-picked by Phil himself, who wasn’t a sailor, either.  He was a weatherwitch, useful when running into storms at sea, but he’d learned everything about sailing when he’d decided to buy his own ship, after he’d left home four hundred turns ago.</p><p>Then, he’d met Nick Fury, who’d managed to become a trusted friend despite Phil’s attempts to keep him at arm’s length, and who’d pointed out that, as a trader, Phil was better to be able to go from port to port and gather information. </p><p>No, Phil wasn’t a spy.  He was just good at bringing back the latest gossip and determining the best people to talk to about things Nick wanted to know, since he never left Zephyr Cay.  The Aalveyn had asked about the reasons for that, and Nick had been cagey about it, which meant he didn’t want to be seen.  It had Phil wondering just why that was…not that Nick was sharing. </p><p>They might have been friends, but Nick Fury had far more secrets than most of the people on Zephyr Cay.  Which, once again, was par for the course for a Priest of the Goddess of Darkness.</p><p>And it wasn’t as if Phil didn’t have his own secrets.  So, who was he to judge?</p><p>“How are we going to go about locating this person Nick wants us to find?”</p><p>Phil turned to regard Melinda May, his First Mate, as she came to stand next to him.  She was from the Achanri Hegemony, exotic and graceful, and could kick a person’s ass before they’d even realized she’d touched them.  She was of Fire, of Strife, a warrior who had saved Phil so many times he’d honesty lost count.</p><p>“Sometimes I think Nick overestimates our abilities,” Phil answered, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  “How we’re going to locate one man in a country as large as Waverlyn…”</p><p>Nick had come to him, when they’d been at dock at Cayside, and made the request of him: that he and his crew sail to Morgantown, and seek out a particular person.  He’d given them a name, Clint Barton, and the fact that the man was a mercenary and hunter, but there was no way of knowing just where this man would be.  Waverlyn was a big place, after all, and restlessness had been growing within the kingdom for the past ten turns, so it wasn’t exactly safe to go poking a nose into another person’s business anymore, since it was likely to get cut off if the wrong questions were asked.</p><p>This was, of course, why he had friends he could ask these things of, people who would be trusted by the residents and not wonder why they were asking questions.</p><p>“<em>I </em>think,” Melinda mused, “Nick Fury knows exactly what he’s doing, and doesn’t bother to let anyone else in on his plans.”</p><p>This was very true.  Phil had known the man for twenty turns, and he’d been on the receiving end of Nick’s mysterious orders many a time.  They’d all seemed to work out, which was a miracle in and of itself.  If Nick wasn’t of Darkness, Phil would have sworn that Chaos was favoring him more than usual.</p><p>“He also knows you’ve managed to build up quite a network of contacts in Waverlyn,” his First Mate pointed out.  “I know you’ve always denied you’re a spy, Phil, and that’s true…you’re the <em>spymaster</em>, not the actual spy.”</p><p>Trust her to know what he’d been thinking.  Sometimes the Aalveyn wondered if she also wasn’t touched by Good, because Melinda had that mind reading thing down pat. </p><p>However, he supposed she had a point, although spying was usually something did during times of trouble, and the last thing he wanted was for one of his people to get into trouble if they were somehow discovered at it.  It wasn’t as if the Shield Islands were at war with Waverlyn, so it wouldn’t be espionage on anyone’s part.  And he wasn’t doing it on behalf of the Governor of the Shield Islands, Alexander Pierce, so it wasn’t for the actual government of the Archipelago, but for a private citizen.  As far as Phil knew, Pierce had a very friendly relationship with the King of Waverlyn, which was a surprise considering the Governor was a paranoid bastard.</p><p>The problem was, Waverlyn was very slowly destabilizing.  It had started ten turns ago, when the current King had lost first his heir, then his Queen, and from all accounts he’d been going insane ever since.  That had communicated itself to the entire kingdom, and King Charles didn’t seem to be getting any better.  It was a proven fact that the health of the ruler directly affected the health of their kingdom, and the world was seeing it happen in Waverlyn. </p><p>Nick would have said it really began thirty turns ago, when King Charles had taken over.  Well, taken over wasn’t the best term for it, really.  More like ‘slaughtered the last royal family and destroyed the original Castle Waverlyn using a Dragon and an army of monsters’. </p><p>That wasn’t exactly common knowledge.  The stories that had been put out had had the King the only survival of the Massacre, not its instigator.  It helped that no one else had lived past that night, so there hadn’t been any witnesses to refute the tale.  Only Nick seemed to know what really happened, and Phil had often wondered how his friend was so very certain of his facts that he’d been utterly convincing, making anyone believe him on his word alone.</p><p>The problem was, up until he’d lost his family, King Charles hadn’t been all that bad a ruler.  Even Nick would agree with that assessment, and he had pretty strong opinions about the King of Waverlyn.  Yes, King Charles had been strict, but he hadn’t been overly cruel, and he’d ruled much better than a usurper would have expected to even if he’d been a bit lackadaisical in some areas of kingship.  There’d been rumors of assassinations and underhanded dealings, but that sort of thing occurred in any kingdom.  Phil had been a witness to such goings’ on himself, back when he’d lived with his clan in Aal’valla, and he’d been raised to be the Clan Chieftain until he’d rebelled and left his homeland behind.  Three hundred turns had been about as long as he’d been able to stand his own father and people, and there had been times since when he’d wondered how he’d managed to for as long as he had.  And he’d never once regretted leaving.</p><p>“You’re overthinking things,” Melinda chided lightly.  “Each and every one us follows you of our own free will, and that includes the contacts that you’ve amassed all over Marvala.  You’ve earned that loyalty.  We don’t do anything against our wills, here, and you would never give us any orders you yourself wouldn’t follow.”</p><p>“That…that’s not all I was thinking about,” he answered dryly.</p><p>“But you were <em>also</em> thinking it.”</p><p>He didn’t bother to answer, because she already knew.  Sometimes it was a pain in his ass that his First Mate knew him so well.</p><p>It only took about half a mark for Trip to get the <em>Dream </em>berthed, sliding the ship into the docking area expertly and with nary a bump against the pier, calling out orders as he spun the massive wheel in the direction he needed <em>Lola’s Dream </em>to go.  Phil trusted his crew implicitly to do their jobs, and he’d simply stepped aside and let his pilot do the task he’d been hired to do.  The Aalveyn knew he’d have made a hash of it if he’d taken over; he might have been the captain, and owned their vessel, but he knew his strengths and this wasn’t one of them. </p><p>As Melinda had so aptly put it, Phil was the spymaster.  Not an accredited pilot or sailor. Although he could summons a stiff breeze and hold off a storm when needed.</p><p>He was going to have to tell Nick about what she’d said.  He was fairly certain his friend would be amused by it and agree.</p><p>Once the ship was tied up at the dock, it was simply down to waiting for the harbormaster to arrive.  Ostensibly, they were in Morgantown to sell a load of precious metals from the islands and stones from Sokovia; of course, that wasn’t their true mission, but Phil knew his cargo would net them the money needed to keep the ship running for several four-tens’ to come.  Everything they made from their trading runs went back into upkeep on the <em>Dream </em>and into paying the crew; Phil hardly ever took payment, since the vessel was his home and anything done to take care of her was keeping his own house in order, so to speak.  Besides, the Aalveyn didn’t need much; he lived a fairly austere life, and that was fine with him.  Oh, he had his collections and interests, and his house on Zephyr Cay, but they often did not cost much in upkeep, and he also had investments he’d made with the little money he did take for himself. </p><p>Glancing up at the sky, he called back over his shoulder to Trip.  “How long until sunset?”  He could see that the sun was low on the horizon, and Firedance, the speedy little red moon, had already begun its track even though it was still daylight.  It would make at least three transits before sunrise; there were some who said that, one day, the smallest of the moons would crash into Marvala and be destroyed.  Phil didn’t know if that were true or not, but he would most likely not see it in his lifetime, as long as it would be, if that prophecy of doom <em>did</em> come to pass.</p><p>Trip only paused for a beat, then said, “Two marks.”</p><p>Phil knew that his pilot’s time sense was always accurate, and nodded in thanks.  He shouted out over the deck, since most of the crew had already gathered, “We have two marks until sunset.  I want everyone back on board at that time.  Until then, you can go out into the town for a bit.”  Which was, of course, his public way of saying if they had contacts, to get with them.  Every member of the crew knew their mission, and would do their best to see it succeed. </p><p>He dreaded having to wait for the harbormaster, whom he could see heading toward them now.  He would be in for at least a mark’s worth of poring over documents and quite possibly greasing the palms of Morgantown’s Port Authority, if needed.  It was another symptom of the beginning of the end of Waverlyn; the graft was going to get worse before the end. </p><p>It was a good thing Jasper wasn’t here to see it; Zephyr Cay’s own Port Authority had his own rather acerbic comments on the greed of harbormasters, and Phil didn’t need the headache of being kicked out of port because of any insult made.</p><p>Melinda rolled her eyes, as if reading his thoughts.  “Go.  You know the contacts around here better than I do.  I’ll deal with the Port Authority.  I can always kill them and throw them overboard if they piss me off.”</p><p>And she would, too. </p><p>“Alright,” he didn’t bother to hide his relief.  “I’ll check to see who’s in town.  Maybe Mike will be around.”  Mike Peterson ran with a lot of the mercenaries in Waverlyn, and he might just have the information they’d need if this Clint Barton person was indeed a mercenary.  And Mike Peterson was a good man, who could be trusted. </p><p>“Give him my regards if you see him.”  Melinda gave him one of those inscrutable little smiles she was good at, and then moved toward the lowered gangplank in order to meet the harbormaster.</p><p>Phil dodged past her, leaving her to deal with the bureaucracy.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Clint tossed and turned in the bed he’d taken at his usual inn when staying in Morgantown, irritated at himself for letting what happened out on the road get to him.</p><p>He’d come to in one of the wagons, grateful that his hearing had seemed to be back to normal, Lucky laying with his head on the hunter’s chest.  When the dog had seen that he was awake, he’d given Clint a tongue bath that had had the others in the caravan who’d witnessed it laughing.  Clint wasn’t about to be embarrassed; after all, he’d done the major work in taking care of the deathstrikes and thought he could deal with a little loving from his dog.</p><p>It had taken them another three days’ travel to get to Morgantown.  They hadn’t run into any more trouble, for which Clint was extremely grateful. It wasn’t that he didn’t think he could handle another attack; it was the idea that he didn’t want to <em>have</em> to.  It also gave him time to think about what had caused the deathstrikes to not only attack so many people, but to attack in a pack, when they were solitary creatures…and he honestly couldn’t come up with a reason, unless something was disturbing them within their dens in the mountains.  What that might have been, there was no way of telling without actually going and seeing for himself, and there was no way Clint was going to do that.</p><p>They’d arrived back in Morgantown to a great deal of fanfare.  Apparently, Lady Helen had managed to get word back to the town about what had happened, and it had made quite a sensation.  So, while Clint would have usually just collected his pay and gone his own way, Lady Helen had had a completely different idea.</p><p>Apparently, it was a really big deal that he’d managed to take down seven deathstrikes all on his own.  </p><p>Clint hadn’t seen it that way.  He’d simply taken the shots when he’d had them, relying on the Deity’s gifts to make the seemingly impossible shots.  But Lady Helen had also made a report to the magistrate about what had occurred, and that had caused an uproar that Clint could have done without.  It had led to so many jobs coming his way that he’d finally had to put out the word that he wasn’t looking for employment for at least two tendays; the bonus that Lady Helen had paid him for saving the caravan and their lives had been more than enough for the archer to take a nice vacation.  Maybe he should escape Morgantown and move on, find somewhere that <em>hadn’t</em> heard the story of the mercenary who’d taken on seven deathstrikes and lived to tell the tale.</p><p>That had been a four-ten ago.  He was seriously enjoying the time off, even though people were still bothering him despite him turning each and every offer down.  But, really, it <em>was</em> time for him to move on, and he knew it.  It was just deciding on where he would be going.</p><p>Sighing, he threw the blanket off and swung his legs over the side of the bed, the soles of his feet hitting the warm boards of the floor.  It was dark; dawn was most likely a few marks off, but he wasn’t going to get to sleep anymore.  He’d managed to doze, but sleep had been a precious commodity, evading him as his mind went round and round over everything that had happened, even though it had been a while ago now.  He was well aware of himself to know that it was just in his nature to dwell on that sort of shit.  And he probably wouldn’t have been doing it <em>now</em> if he hadn’t been cornered down in the common room last night about it, a group of drunkards wanting him to tell the story all over <em>again</em>. </p><p>Deities, but he <em>hated</em> the notoriety.  It made him feel itchy and exposed and it was so totally against his nature he wanted to hide in a wardrobe somewhere and never come out into the light again.</p><p>There was a snuffling sound from the room’s lone chair, and Clint glanced over, knowing what he would see.  His getting up had awakened Lucky, and he raised his head up to give Clint his disgusted, one-eyed stare. </p><p>Lucky, seeing there wasn’t anything going on but Clint’s own restlessness, snorted with so much disdain, then collapsed back into the chair, snoring again almost at once.</p><p>“Damn dog,” Clint muttered fondly as he reached for the trousers he’d flung at the foot of the bed when he’d turned in the night before. </p><p>After his trousers were pulled up over his hips, he made his way toward the window as he buttoned up the fly.  The white moon, Snowdream, was waning, but its size still meant that it cast enough light over the road outside that the shadows stretched long below the lampposts.  Red Firedance was making one of its nightly races across the sky; it was nearly full, and its red glare tinted those same shadows with a pale stripe of color.  Both blue Windstorm and green Wavewhisper had already set, which made it <em>really</em> late. </p><p>Clint always stayed at the Broken Arrow Inn when he was in Morgantown, so he was well aware of the workings of the place.  None of the employees would be up as yet so, if he wanted breakfast or even coffee, he would have to find someplace open.  The mercenary sighed, realizing the chances of that was positively nil, but he didn’t want to hang around in his room.  Something was making him itch to be moving, and he couldn’t tell if it was his instincts or the fact that the notoriety had really gotten to him.  </p><p>The only thing he could do was head out into the town, wander until Morgantown began to stir for the day, and hope to find some place that catered to the overnight crowd to be open if he wanted food and drink.  He <em>really</em> could use a coffee, but then to be honest he usually lived on the stuff.  Sometimes he wondered if he had more coffee than blood in his veins. </p><p>At least with most of the residents asleep it would mean he could get a little peace and quiet.  All the free drinks he’d been getting in the tavern were nice, but honestly he was just sick of all the staring and pointing and all that shit.</p><p>The street below was deserted.  Not a surprise.  Sighing, Clint turned away from the window to finish getting dressed.  Lucky had gone back to sleep, but the dog roused once more by the time the hunter was pulling his boots on.  If a dog could roll his eyes, Lucky would have done that with his single one; he snorted, then jumped down out of the chair, moving to sit at Clint’s feet, waiting for him to finish getting ready to go out.  The mercenary wasn’t a Druid, so he couldn’t actually read Lucky’s emotions, but even he could feel the sheer disdain oozing out of every doggy pore at having his sleep interrupted.</p><p>Clint scrubbed his knuckles across Lucky’s head in apology, then got to his feet once more.  A stroll about the sleeping town would let his mind and emotions settle…at least he hoped it would. </p><p>Gathering his sword, bow and quiver, and slipping his knife into his boot, Clint let himself out of his room, making sure the door was closed and locked behind him and his dog.  He took the stairs as quietly as possible which, for him, was pretty damned quiet.  He was a mercenary by trade, yet a hunter by birth, so creeping around was second nature.  And he didn’t want to rouse any of the inn’s staff with his passing through.</p><p>He didn’t run into anyone on his way out.  This wasn’t also a surprise, given the lateness of the mark, although he thought it might not be too long before the servants began to rise.  The stairs let out onto the main room of the inn, the long bar a deeper shadow in the darkness of the taproom.  With his eyesight, he had no problem negotiating his way around the chairs and tables in the room, making his way to the inn’s front door, easily unlocking it and exiting the building.  He locked it back using one of his handy lockpicks, not wanting the owners to be burgled just because Clint couldn’t bother to lock up after himself.  That would be just plain rude.</p><p>The scent of the ocean hit him as he left the inn, Lucky by his side.  The humidity of late summer was heavy in the air, and he took a deep breath as he stepped down the inn’s front stoop and into the cobbled street.  No place the size of Morgantown was ever strictly silent; seabirds called out over the rooftops, and the soft susurrus of the sea against the local docks accompanied him as his bootheels clicked against the stone.   However, there was no one on the streets, the walkways clear, and Clint found himself enjoying the sensation of being alone. </p><p><em>Finally</em>.</p><p>He let his feet take him where they wanted to go, and that seemed to be the dock areas. As he got closer, however, he began to see more people. Dock workers at their jobs, streetwalkers on their way to their daytime lodgings, all of them having places to go and not paying any attention to either the hunter or the dog walking in their midst, thank the Deity.  Morgantown was a large, port town, the trading gateway to the Kingdom of Waverlyn and Stark Lands beyond the Stuyvesant Mountains. Ships came from Aal’valla, Asgard, Sokovia, and the Shield Islands to bring their wares to the markets in town and beyond.  Clint had had the opportunity to travel by ship, and had once taken a contract on Triskelia, the major island in the Shield Archipelago, but Waverlyn had always been his home, even if he didn’t know who his birth parents were.</p><p>Not that he cared much, really.  He had no memories of his real parents, only the people who’d fostered him, and they’d been decent to him.  It hadn’t been their fault that he hadn’t felt as if he’d belonged, despite their love for him, and that he’d had to leave as soon as he was mature enough to do so, dropping all pretense of trying to fit in with the rest of the residents of the small farming village he’d grown up in.</p><p>Lights were glowing on the masts of the ships in the harbor, brightening the late-night darkness.  The lamps were also gleaming along the wharves and the roads leading to the warehouses where various sorts of goods would be stored for transport inland.  Clint <em>could</em> most likely find a job on one of the many trading caravans that would be leaving Morgantown, after what had happened he knew he’d be welcomed with any group heading east.  Or he could have signed aboard any of the ships at anchor, moving on to one of the other countries beyond Waverlyn.  He’d certainly thought about it a lot in the last four-ten, if he were honest, what with the unrest that was growing within his home country, </p><p>No, the idea of taking some time off was a good one.  Maybe he’d go hunt up Kate, wherever she was, and let the tales of his ‘heroic rescue of the caravan from seven deathstrikes’ die off before taking on another job.  The last he’d heard, she’d been traveling, seeing the kingdom, and away from her father’s influence.  Being disinherited would have been the best thing to happen to her, in both Kate’s <em>and</em> Clint’s opinion.</p><p>The crews of the ships were also coming to life, getting ready for either offloading of their cargoes or leaving the docks on the next tide.  Cheerful shouting echoed over the sound of a single wagon’s wheels running over the cobbled streets, and Clint found himself smiling.  There were times when he wished he’d chosen a more peaceful profession; he could easily see himself as a crewmember onboard one of the trading vessels, sailing the open waters between the continents, the only thing to worry him was weather, or pirates, or any number of things that could go wrong at sea…</p><p>Alright, maybe it wasn’t any more peaceful than what he was doing <em>now</em>.</p><p>He couldn’t help but examine the ships as he passed.  Most were simply basic trading vessels, long lines and tied sails, some in better shape than others, lit by their lamps.  There was one, however, that caught his attention: it was of a slimmer construction, although longer, with a raised wheelhouse and three sturdy masts.  A single red stripe had been painted above the water line, giving the lovingly lacquered wood a jaunty appearance.  The name, <em>Lola’s Dream</em>, was embossed on the keel, just in front of the opening where the anchor chain hung.  A young woman with light brown hair was standing at the rail, speaking to an equally young man, dark-skinned and grinning widely, both drinking what had to be coffee.  Her eyes caught his as he moved past, and she gave him a sunny smile, Clint recognizing her as a devotee of the Goddess of Life by her aura, which meant she was most likely a healer, and a fairly powerful one at that.  Her companion he would have put down as the ship’s navigator, as only a follower of Order would have had stars in their aura like he did.</p><p>Clint returned the smile and continued on his way, recognizing that coffee was something he was in desperate need of, and thinking he might be able to find some in one of the eating places that catered to sailors and ship’s crews and that would be close by.</p><p>Then, Lucky stopped suddenly, and Clint came to a halt beside him.  The dog’s ears were pricked, and he was suddenly growling softly, his hackles rising.  “What is it?” he murmured, crouching down beside him.  Lucky had excellent instincts – they came from a life of abuse, before having been left for dead in the alley Clint had found him in – and the mercenary trusted the dog to know when something was wrong.</p><p>He found himself standing at the mouth of an alley, thick shadows disguising what was within…except to Clint’s superior eyesight, which could pick up details that would have been obscured to anyone else.  Crates were stacked up against both walls, which were the sides of two warehouses, separated by the alley that was wide enough for a wagon to pass through…without the boxes and other containers cluttering the way, of course.  There was movement down the alley a ways, a person that seemed to be just a bit sneakier than they really needed to be, his darkly fiery aura giving him away as being of Strife.</p><p>The hairs on the back of Clint’s neck stood on end.  He couldn’t have said what was setting his instincts off, but he’d long ago learned to trust them as much as he trusted Lucky’s.</p><p>A second person peeled away from the shadows, another fighter, both of them walking toward Clint with serious intent.   Clint decided that hanging around wasn’t in his best interests.  Why anyone would want to come after a well-armed man was a question he would have loved the answer to, especially someone that everyone in town was going on about having been responsible for doing something no one had ever done, but figured it wouldn’t have been a good idea to hang around to find out because he didn’t think they wanted to invite him to breakfast</p><p>Clint stood, gently tugging on Lucky’s ear in order to get him to move.  The dog came willingly, casting a one-eyed glare back toward the alley as they left, another growl escaping his throat in warning.</p><p>Suddenly, the docks didn’t seem as peaceful as they had before, and Clint didn’t need coffee <em>that</em> badly to keep going in search of somewhere to get a cup.</p><p>Thinking that heading back to his lodgings would now be a good idea, the mercenary and his dog began to walk back the way they came, passing the ships that he’d been admiring before.  Suddenly, the area was empty, as if the few people who’d been working and passing by had vacated the place, leaving it silent and Clint alone.  Where was everyone?  Clint would have been fairly safe even with the handful of workers he’d passed on his way. </p><p>He couldn’t help but notice that even the place where the man and woman had been standing on the deck of the <em>Lola’s Dream </em>was empty, but he put it out of his mind as he strode by.  It wasn’t important in the scheme of things, although he could have called up for assistance if needed. </p><p>And he really did think he needed assistance.</p><p>Damnit.  This wasn’t going to go well, he just had a feeling.  It was an ugly one, and he hastened along, wanting to find someone who could help or even just a place to make a stand.  As it was, he was out in the open, and if his pursuers had ranged weapons he was going to be serious trouble.</p><p>This didn’t make sense.  Why were they after him?  Clint hadn’t done anything wrong; he didn’t have much money on him, all of his coin was back at the inn, where he’d left it because he’d felt uncomfortable carrying that much gold on him and no one would want to be digging around in his stinky socks.  There were two of them; he could most likely take care of them in a fight, but the last thing he wanted to do was cause trouble.  Peace Officers were a pain in the ass to deal with, and it would mean he’d have to stay in Morgantown longer than he really wanted to. </p><p>However, he was beginning to think there wasn’t going to be anything for it.  And two-to-one was pretty good odds, one that Chaos would be in favor of.</p><p>Just as Clint was about to turn and call out to the strangers after him, he suddenly felt something strike him in the shoulder, pushing him forward a few steps in reaction.  Instantly, Clint’s eyesight began to swim, and he stumbled, cursing himself for turning his back on whoever had been in that alley.  He really should have known better.</p><p>It was obvious he’d been hit with something, a curse of some sort most likely, or even some sort of fast-acting toxin. It was affecting him in some way, blocking any control of his body even as his mind remained clear.</p><p>So, <em>this</em> was how someone went after a mercenary with such a newly fearsome reputation as Clint had gained lately.</p><p>Clint went down on his knees, the pain of striking the cobbles not even registering in his shock and anger at the situation he’d found himself in.  Damnit, he should have turned and confronted them sooner.  He <em>realized</em> he was on a dock; and there were always ships looking for crewmembers who were…unlikely to be missed, and who wouldn’t have signed up otherwise.  There were some ships that weren’t at all picky at how they gained their crews.</p><p>Because it hadn’t even occurred to him that he would be grabbed out in public like this, especially after all the hullaballoo his last job had caused.  He’d thought, once he could get away from the docks, that he wouldn’t be pursued…if, in fact, he’d been the one the shadows in the alley was after, which his instincts had told him was the truth.  Why they would even want him, Clint didn’t know.  He was just a paid mercenary; yes, one that had come into some fairly nice money – and that aforementioned fearsome reputation – after the last job he’d had, but it wasn’t like even he had the coin on him.  There was literally no reason why anyone would want to kidnap him.</p><p>It had to have been that they were going to force him into duty on one of the vessels that was currently at dock.  That made the most sense, even if they were going about it in a really stupid way.  There was no one less like a sailor than Clint Barton, if he was being honest.  And, he was openly carrying weapons and was usually pretty good at taking care of himself…when he wasn’t being cursed or drugged or whatever the Havens was wrong with him.</p><p>There was a loud barking that sounded, followed by a growl, then some shouting, but Clint couldn’t see what was going on because he couldn’t get his head to turn in the direction the noises were coming from.  His knees were going out from under him, and his body slid sideways onto the roadway.  He barely managed to twist enough to keep his head from impacting painfully against the stones, which could have incapacitated him even more than he already was, and he wanted to keep his wits about him, even if he couldn’t act on anything. </p><p>However, falling the way he had did manage to get him a sideways view of his attackers.</p><p>Two had become six.  Really, this was looking less like an impression than an outright kidnapping attempt.  It wasn’t assassination, because assassins didn’t usually drug someone up before killing them.  They got right to the killing part.  Besides, none of their auras spoke if being devotees of Death.</p><p>Lucky must have gotten a vicious bite in on one of the attackers, who was cursing and cradling one of his arms, blood dripping from the torn fabric.  But the asshole had managed to toss the dog aside, Lucky falling awkwardly to the cobbles.  The mercenary’s heart began to thunder in his chest as his companion of several turns attempted to get to his feet, but Lucky had taken a hard fall and whimpered as he fell back to the ground.</p><p>Rage had Clint fighting back against whatever was muddling his control over his body.  He got a hand flat, the stones smooth against his palm, levering himself up, his normally strong arm trembling with the effort.  They were going to take him, and had already hurt Lucky, and there was no way in <em>any</em> of the Havens that he was going to just lay down and let them do whatever they wanted.  His foster parents had claimed he’d always been stubborn, which was the Twelve’s honest truth.</p><p>A boot connected to Clint’s side, knocking him back over, pain lancing through him in two different directions: from the actual kick and the falling since he wasn’t able to catch himself.  The air was forced from his lungs and he gasped as two pairs of hands wrestled him to his feet.</p><p>“Let’s get the bastard outta here,” a gruff voice murmured, almost in Clint’s ear as his head lolled onto a bony shoulder.  The mercenary could smell garlic on his kidnapper’s breath, he was that close.</p><p>He tried to fight back.  But whatever they’d done had taken complete control of his body away from him.  He was absolutely unable to defend himself, which was far more frightening than he would have given any thought to.  A rather loud grumble of anger escaped his slack lips, and he felt entirely gratified that the guys had to take his complete weight.  There was no way his muddled brain had any sort of control over his limbs at that point, and he wanted it to be as hard as possible to carry him off like a sack of potatoes.</p><p>“I don’t think the gentleman wants to go with you,” a calm, male voice proclaimed.  “And I’m not at all fond of what you’ve done to the man’s dog.”</p><p>Luckily for Clint, his captors turned in the direction of whoever it was stepping into the kidnapping attempt, so he managed to see who’d come to his rescue.</p><p>There were two people standing there, relaxed but obviously ready for a fight. </p><p>One was a woman, dressed in black leather from head to toe; armor that protected her chest and abdomen, yet left her legs and arms with complete freedom of movement.  Her black hair fell about her shoulders, moved about a little by the ocean breeze, framing a face with a definite Achanri Hegemony cast.  That face was completely devoid of expression, which made her seem all the more formidable…although the lack of weapons in her hands was far scarier than her lack of emotions.  She was a warrior, of Strife, her aura as fiery as she was calm.  Honestly, Clint was glad that he wasn’t the one on the receiving end of whatever she had planned for the idiots who’d tried to grab him.</p><p>The man with her, though, really took all of Clint’s attention.</p><p>At first glance, it was obvious the man was Aalveyn, the tips of his pointed ears protruding from his brown hair, which was receding a bit in the front.  His blue eyes were angry, despite the bland expression on his face…which was handsome, once Clint got past the blandness part.  The man was dressed in dark blue trousers, a matching jacket over a high-necked white shirt.  He had a naked sword in one hand, the blade resting on his shoulder, as if he didn’t have a care in the world and wasn’t, in fact, facing down six armed men who’d managed to somehow drug Clint and were bound and determined to carry him off somewhere.  His aura was a rich sky blue, and quite beautiful, with tiny lightning bursts that lit up around him as if he were the center of a miniature storm, marking him as a high-level weatherwitch.</p><p>However, what really caught Clint’s eye were the wings on the man’s back.</p><p>They were white, shading down into a silver-grey at the primary feathers.  If he had to guess, Clint would have put them at six times the man’s height when both were extended, certainly large enough to be able to carry the stranger’s weight in flight.</p><p>Between one blink and the next, the wings were gone.  Clint doubted anyone else had been able to actually <em>see</em> them. Only his gifted eyesight would have let him make them out, if what he knew about what their owner was, was true and not just a lot of rumors.</p><p>Not only was the man Aalveyn, but he was also <em>Tal’endi</em>.</p><p>Clint had never seen a Tal’endi, one of the legendary Children of the Air, before.  They were so incredibly rare; the <em>Book of the Eternities</em> claimed they were direct descendants of Light, but Clint had doubted that any still existed.  The wings, though, were the dead giveaway.  They would have been invisible to anyone else, unless their owner decided to make them visible, but Clint had always been good at seeing things that no one else would have been able to see.  His eyesight was as rare as the man standing there, staring down Clint’s would-be kidnappers and threatening them as if he was simply discussing the weather – which, being a weatherwitch, would be a subject he would be intimately familiar with – naked sword on his shoulder like it was some sort of pointy walking stick that couldn’t do an immense amount of damage to anyone getting in his way.</p><p>“Walk away,” one of the kidnappers growled.  Whoever it was, was standing behind Clint and the two who were holding him up, so he couldn’t tell what was going on.  The mercenary’s nerves were jangling at the very notion of someone he didn’t trust at his back; he would have felt the same way, even if the bastard wasn’t in the middle of kidnapping him.  He hated the idea of not being able to protect himself.</p><p>“Well, you see,” the Aalveyn answered calmly, “we can’t do that, since it seems as if you’re taking this man against his will.  The last time I checked that sort of thing was against the law.”</p><p>“We’re duly deputized bounty hunters,” the man replied.  “This mercenary is wanted for crimes against the Crown of Waverlyn, and we’re taking him in.”</p><p>Wait…<em>what</em>?</p><p>This was news to Clint.</p><p>He hadn’t done anything wrong.  In fact, he’d done his damnedest to keep himself to himself, to not cause any trouble.  Sure, he’d gotten into situations that he’d had to get himself out of, but they’d been in the context of the jobs he’d taken on as a mercenary.  He’d been paid well, and the authorities had been informed of just what trouble had come up while on the road, so there was absolutely no reason for any sort of warrant being issued for his arrest.  He made a disagreeing grumble, the only sort of sound he <em>could</em> make, and to his surprise the Tal’endi and his companion seemed to understand what he was trying to say.</p><p>“Why is it,” the Aalveyn mused, his eyes knowing, “that I don’t believe you?”</p><p>What Clint saw next…he had to wonder if whatever curse had been put on him had, somehow, messed up his senses in some way, because he couldn’t quite register what had just <em>happened</em>.</p><p>Before he could even think about it, the woman had attacked, taking down four of the so-called bounty hunters, leaving only the two holding Clint upright conscious.</p><p>It was a beautiful thing to watch.  She must have had the blessings of Strife himself to be able to fight like that.</p><p>The Tal’endi was smiling slightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in pleasure.  He hadn’t moved a muscle while his companion had acted, seemingly content to let her handle things while keeping out of her way. </p><p>“You could have given me a hand,” she groused, taking a stance in front of Clint and the final two kidnappers.</p><p>“You can handle a half dozen men easily,” the man scoffed.  “I’m superfluous to needs at the tick.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes without looking back at the Aalveyn, but Clint got the distinct impression that he knew she was doing it and was amused by the gesture.  “You want to put him down?” she addressed the last two captors, “or do I have to take that man out of your hands myself?”  She held up a hand as if showing them what it looked like, then curling the fingers into a tight fist.  It shouldn’t have been as badass as it was.</p><p>One of them, obviously intimidated, dropped Clint’s arm immediately.  That meant the second person had to take all of the mercenary’s dead weight, and that threw the asshole off balance.</p><p>Which meant he also let go, and Clint slumped to the cobbles.</p><p>He had absolutely no control over his limbs, so he hit hard, sprawling in a twisted position as his head struck solidly.  Clint saw stars, his vision going dark around the edges, so he missed the rest of the fight.</p><p>Suddenly, there were hands on him, turning him over onto his back, someone cushioning his head to keep it from hitting the stone again.  He groaned, eyes rolling slightly, and Clint could tell it was the Tal’endi who was tending him now.  Because he couldn’t control it at the moment, he couldn’t help but notice the man’s wings once more, and they were spread slightly, as if trying to shield both Clint and their owner from view…which was impossible really, since they wouldn’t have been visible to anyone else. </p><p>“Fetch Jemma and Lance, and Daisy to look after the dog,” he ordered, glancing over Clint’s head, toward what had to have been the badass woman who’d taken on the six fighters and had come out on top.   He was glad someone had thought about Lucky; he was scared that his dog had been seriously hurt.</p><p>Footsteps headed away, and the woman moved into and then out of Clint’s rather limited eyeline.  The Aalveyn stayed, and for some reason – although they’d never officially met – the mercenary felt as if he could trust this man enough to pass out.</p><p>And so, he did.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“Captain!”</p><p>Phil glanced up from the strings of his harp at the sound of Jemma calling to him.  He’d been relaxing a little with some music, the magic of the instrument quiescent under his fingers.  The Maelstrom Harp had been in his clan for so long no one was still alive who could recall when it had been gifted to them…which was a very long time indeed, as the Aalveyn had extremely long lifespans.  Phil’s father was still going strong at two thousand turns old, as far as he knew, since he hadn’t seen the man since he’d left home over four hundred turns ago.</p><p>Phil had been the first one in three generations that had been able to get the Harp to even play.  It had been an easy decision to take it with him when he’d left his clan.</p><p>The Aalveyn hadn’t been able to sleep much, despite how tired he’d been when he’d come back to the ship, pleased with himself.  He’d managed to find Mike Peterson at the local tavern that Phil knew was pretty decent, which had been lucky since Mike had been about to leave with a group heading toward the town of Waverly, and wouldn’t have been back for a bit.  Phil had gotten quite a tale about their quarry, as well as a description of Clint Barton that Phil had given to the rest of the crew when he’d returned, several gold coins less wealthy but with their first solid lead.</p><p>Seven deathstrikes. </p><p><em>Damn</em>. </p><p>Mike had also said that Barton was still in town, and would most likely be at the Broken Arrow, on Carriage Street.  Phil had made a note to go by the tavern in the morning, in order to check on it.  Honestly, it was as if Chaos was on their side, and he wasn’t going to argue about it.  He’d gone to bed feeling like they were going to actually succeed in this hairbrained quest Nick had given them, his mind making plans on how to approach Barton and to get him to go with them.</p><p>He’d ended up being awake before most everyone else in the crew through no fault of his own, except for Mack, his Second Mate, who usually took night watch when they were out to sea and just kept up the same habit while on shore.  He’d had coffee on, and Phil had gladly helped himself before going back to his cabin and taking up the Harp.   He hadn’t even been aware that anyone else was up, until Jemma had shouted.  He only hoped she hadn’t awakened anyone else.</p><p>His cabin door was open, and Jemma entered, followed by Trip.  Jemma Simmons was a healer, a very gifted one for as young as she was, and the Aalveyn was damned blessed to have her in his crew.  “What is it?” he asked, standing. </p><p>Jemma had an expression on her face that was parts confusion, gladness, and fear.  “I just saw him!” she exclaimed.</p><p>Phil frowned, not quite understanding…and then it hit him.  “Clint Barton?”</p><p>Jemma nodded fiercely, but Trip looked uncertain.  “We don’t know what he looks like exactly, Jem,” the pilot told her.  “You can’t be certain.”</p><p>Jemma’s face turned stubborn.  “It’s <em>him</em>,” she insisted, “and he was just walking down the wharf with a one-eyed dog.  He smiled at me!  I <em>know</em> it was him!”  Phil could tell that she was just barely keeping herself from stamping her foot in rage.  She hated being doubted, not that he could blame her for that.</p><p>“Easy, Jemma.”  He stood, holding up a hand to keep her from ranting further.  “I believe you.”  Mike had mentioned a one-eyed dog, and there couldn’t have been that many of them around.</p><p>Her shoulders slumped in relief.  “Thank you, Captain.”</p><p>It seemed like such a coincidence, and he had to wonder if Davis had been using his magic to tip the scales in their favor.  Chaos certainly was on their side at the tick.</p><p>He carefully hung the Harp back on the wall in its place.  “Which way did he go?” he asked, making his way toward the narrow hallway that led toward the deck. </p><p>“Left,” she answered, just behind him.  “Down the wharf toward that big four masted ship that has that rather ostentatious half-human, half leviathan at the front.”</p><p>Jemma had never gotten the hang of nautical terms, but that was fine.  She was as much a sailor as Phil himself was, but then he’d studied and learned all he could before buying the <em>Dream </em>from her former owners.  However, the Aalveyn knew exactly what ship she was talking about, and she was correct…that figurehead on that particular ship really was an ostentatious monster of a thing.  It was quite ugly, Phil thought. It made him glad that he’d removed the hideous dragon-thing from the <em>Dream</em>’s prow when he’d gotten her.</p><p>Phil was up on the deck quickly, heading toward the rail, hoping to get a glimpse of the man that Jemma and Trip had seen.  There were very few people out at that time of the morning but, as the Aalveyn watched, three men came swaggering down from the direction of town and, with threats and curses, had the workers that were around scuttling for cover.</p><p>Phil’s instinct was, that this wasn’t good.  Not one bit.  And he was fairly certain it concerned Clint Barton, although he couldn’t have said why he felt that way.</p><p>“Trip,” he directed, “get my sword from my cabin, if you don’t mind?”</p><p>“Aye.”  The pilot jumped to obey.</p><p>“Jemma, fetch Melinda please.  I think something’s going to happen.”</p><p>“Yes, Sir.”  The healer left his side, following behind Trip.</p><p>Phil turned from the rail, striding up the deck toward the wheelhouse.  Mack was standing at the wheel, although there was no need with them at dock, and his Second Mate’s dark eyes met his.  “Trouble, Boss?” he inquired as the Aalveyn topped the steps.</p><p>“I think so.” He explained what Jemma had seen.</p><p>Mack – full name Alphonso Mackenzie – nodded.  “I saw her tearing off down below.  She thinks it really was Barton?”</p><p>“She’s pretty positive.  And I think she might be correct.”  He buttoned up his jacket; he’d loosened it when he’d taken up the Harp, after dressing when he’d been unable to get back to sleep.  “I want the <em>Dream </em>ready to sail as soon as possible.  If this has something to do with Barton…we might need to leave in a hurry.  And have Davis see if he can rustle us up some luck.”  Not that it appeared they needed any, but it never hurt.</p><p>“Pardon me for saying so,” Mack said rather delicately…which would always sound strange with that deep voice of his, “but how can we be sure that trouble on the docks equals trouble for this Barton person?”</p><p>Phil felt the question was a valid one.  “I don’t know.  But something’s telling me it is.  Jemma saw who she thought was Barton walk by, and then a trio of thugs started clearing the district.  You tell me, Mack.”</p><p>“Alright, yeah. That makes sense.  I’ll rouse everyone and get things ready to go.”</p><p>The Aalveyn clapped him on the shoulder.  It was like slapping a wall.  Honestly, his Second Mate was built like a small house.  “Thanks, Mack.”</p><p>“Captain.”  Trip’s voice had the Aalveyn coming down the stairs once more.  The pilot had his sword, which he handed over. </p><p>“We’re getting ready to sail,” he said, “go up and help Mack.”</p><p>“Aye, Captain.”  Trip gave a little salute, then lifted himself up the ladder toward the wheelhouse.</p><p>As Phil was buckling on his sword belt, Melinda came up from belowdecks, not carrying any weapons but looking all the more deadly because of it.  Jemma was just behind her, with Daisy following. </p><p>“Come on,” he directed his First Mate.  “We might have some ass kicking to do.”</p><p>One side of Melinda’s mouth curled upward in a pleased smile.  “Haven’t had to do any of that in a while.”</p><p>She was right, things had been pretty quiet for them lately.  “You’re not out of practice, are you?” he teased as he headed toward the gangplank, that had been left in place after the authority had left and the crew had returned.</p><p>“I could ask you the same about that pigsticker,” she pointed out, laughter barely hidden under her words.</p><p>It really was all teasing; despite not really needing it, the crew regularly practiced their fighting.  There were still pirates in the waters around the Shield Islands, despite the Governor’s attempts to get rid of them; there were simply too many specks of land in the archipelago to police that closely.  The <em>Dream </em>hadn’t been attacked lately, the pirates seemed to be staying away from any ship that flew the flag of the islands, but the last time it <em>had</em> happened they’d done more than hold their own… they’d actually managed to take the pirate’s ship as well, despite the fact that <em>Lola’s Dream </em>had only a small compliment. </p><p>Yes, Phil was very proud of his people.</p><p>By the time they’d gotten down the gangplank, the man Jemma had identified as Clint Barton was down, and was being carried off.</p><p>Phil got his first good look at Clint Barton as he was being held by two of the would-be kidnappers.  The Aalveyn couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was, even under the influence of something that was keeping him docile.  Sun-lightened hair, and eyes he couldn’t quite tell what shade they were under the lamps that were lit in order to illuminate the area…really, the man was at his worst, and Phil thought he was very good looking indeed.  And his arms, which were bare…<em>Havens</em>.</p><p>He was dressed in well-worn clothing, but they were taken care of, in shades of browns with a hint of deep purple in a stripe down his trousers.  He was also well armed, with a sword he hadn’t had a chance to unsheathe and a quiver on his back; the bow had been dropped to the cobblestones from a nerveless hand, or else Phil was certain the man would have taken proper care with it.  This man was indeed a hunter, a mercenary, and it showed.</p><p>It didn’t take Melinda long to take them all out, taking care to kick a couple of extra times when they were down; he was pretty sure that was because of the dog, who was laying nearby yet still trying to get up and go to his master’s defense, making whining noises that spoke of the animal being in pain.  Unfortunately, that meant that the person he was now certain was Clint Barton had been dropped rather heavily to the stone, let go when his First Mate had made them.</p><p>The Aalveyn might have teased Melinda about being out of practice, but she certainly knew how to defeat her enemies.</p><p>The captain was at Barton’s side in an instant, carefully turning him over.  There was blood on the side of his face from where his head had hit hard, but he seemed to be conscious.  “Fetch Jemma and Lance, and Daisy to look after the dog,” he told Melinda.  Jemma could take care of any physical injures, and Lance – being the ship’s magic-user – could test to see what had incapacitated the man so completely.  Phil was suspicious that it was some sort of spell, although he supposed it could have also been a poison of some sort.   And Daisy would enjoy taking care of a dog, since it was apparent it had been hurt. </p><p>Melinda turned from where she was making certain the attackers were down for the count, taking a beat to do some more kicking in vengeance for the dog.  Nodding, she darted back to the ship, leaving Phil alone with the man who’d just lost consciousness.  It gave him time to really get a good look at the man they’d been sent to locate.  He could see the strength in him, and how the turns of being on the road had weathered him.  This had been the man that Mike had claimed had taken down seven deathstrikes, and the Aalveyn could see it. </p><p>But he was troubled.  One of the men had claimed that they were bounty hunters, with a duly sworn royal warrant to take Barton into custody.  Nick hadn’t said the man was a criminal; in fact, from what they knew, Clint Barton was a mercenary, and most definitely a hunter.  And Barton himself had seemed confused by the statement, even if he hadn’t been able to talk at the time. </p><p>No, something was up.  Phil just didn’t know what that was, and he didn’t like it.</p><p>It didn’t take long for Jemma and Lance to show up, Jemma kneeling beside Phil and taking the man’s hand in hers.  The Aalveyn could sense the flair of power within her as she used her gifts to check him over.  “Let’s get him onboard,” she urged, “I’m not healing him in the middle of the street.  And Lance,” she turned toward the mage, “there’s a definite curse here.”</p><p>Lance Hunter swore in a couple of different languages.  “I’ll take care of it, love, before you muck in with your own gifts.”</p><p>Together, Phil and Lance hoisted the unconscious man up and dragged him toward the ship.  Daisy was just behind them, carrying the dog; it was indeed missing an eye, and the Aalveyn wondered just how that had happened.  But Daisy would take care of it, with her druid skills. He trusted her completely, and perhaps Barton would trust them a little if they’d healed his companion as well.</p><p>He knew they were asking for trouble by just taking him away, but there was no real choice.  If there truly was a royal warrant out there with Clint Barton’s name on it, and these six so-called bounty hunters had been after him, then Waverlyn simply wasn’t safe for him any longer. </p><p>Hopefully, Barton wouldn’t see their kidnapping of him as the same as what they’d saved him from.  They were going to be out to sea before the man woke up, and there would be no going back at that point.</p><p>And, hopefully, it would be a while before anyone put together the fight on the dock, Clint Barton, and <em>Lola’s Dream </em>leaving so precipitously and sent someone after them.</p><p>Nick was going to owe them all big for this.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Clint came awake in fits and starts, noticing little things as he clawed his way back to consciousness, his head making its displeasure known at his being conscious again.</p><p>The bed he was on, wasn’t exactly soft but it was comfortable; the sheet he was under smelled clean, and was cool against the exposed skin of his chest.  Apparently, someone had taken off his shirt when they’d patched him up after the attack…he should have been worried about that, but just couldn’t bring up the right amount of outrage the situation should have demanded, not after getting the shit beat out of him like he had.</p><p>Yes, he remembered the attack. Quite vividly.  He also remembered the rescue.</p><p>There was a distinct, yet slight rocking motion, which meant he was on a ship and out to sea somewhere.  If the vessel had been tied up at a dock, he thought it would have felt different? Plus, chances were he would have heard the sound of waves lapping against the pier, and that noise wasn’t there.  So, the logical conclusion was that he was at sea.</p><p>And yes, he could be logical when the situation demanded it.</p><p>Clint pried his eyes open, needing to know exactly where he was but flinching in the brightness of the sun coming in through a small port high on the wall.</p><p>OH, yeah, he was definitely on a ship.  Only sea-going vessels had portholes like that, from his – relatively sketchy – experience in sailing.</p><p>The cabin he was in was fairly small and bare of any sort of decorations.  There was another bed in the room, above him, and he could make out the wooden slats that held the mattress in place.  At the foot was the ladder that would allow whoever the upper bunk belonged to, to climb up into their bed.  A part of Clint wished he were in that bunk, but he could understand why he wasn’t…it would have been easier to care for him closer to the floor.</p><p>There was a slight movement in the corner of his eye.  Clint turned his head carefully, not wanting to agitate his brain too much by moving quickly. </p><p>A pair of good-sized trunks sat against the other wall, their lids closed, one of them with a padlock on it to prevent anyone from getting in.  The mercenary mused it would most likely take him only a few ticks to pick the lock, not that he would…after all, from what he could recall these people had most likely saved him from a fate worse than death at the hands of royal justice, not that he’d done anything to deserve that sort of fate that he could recall.</p><p>On the trunk that <em>wasn’t</em> locked, sat an orange tabby, staring at him with bright grey eyes.</p><p>Clint had always had a good rapport with all sorts of animals, even if he didn’t have any sort of druidic gift.  Most animals simply seemed to like him.  However, there was something about this particular cat, something in its reflective eyes, that had him wondering if it only <em>resembled</em> a feline.  He blinked a little to clear the remaining fogginess from his vision, and the cat <em>flickered</em>, making Clint smile in comprehension.</p><p>So…a self-shaper. </p><p><em>Nice</em>.</p><p>And so, he did the only thing he could.</p><p>“Excuse me,” he addressed the cat, “but can you tell me where my dog is?”</p><p>It made a combination purr-meow-grumble that Clint took as laughter, then jumped off the trunk to make its way out of the cracked-open door.  Without realizing he was doing it, the mercenary checked out the cat’s rear, determining that this was a male feline form.  So, chances were, his Human form was also male.</p><p>Clint let himself wait.  He could be patient when he wanted to be and, being at sea, there really wasn’t anywhere he could actually go even if he wanted to leave.  So, he laid back on the bed, letting the aches and pains settle into his bones and his head throb, feeling as if he’d been pummeled by a giant and wondering just what sort of curse or poison or whatever had been used on him.  Deities, he didn’t even know how long he’d been unconscious, only that it was daylight at the tick.</p><p>He had no idea how long he just lay there, his mind floating over the pain, but he was drawn out of his reverie by the door opening all the way.  Opening his eyes and propping himself up on his elbows – which did his head no favors – Clint watched as a young woman entered.  She was Human, with brown hair and dark eyes, and she was smiling brightly as she noticed him trying to sit up. With surprise, he recognized her as the kid he’d seen standing at the railing of the ship, <em>Lola’s Dream, </em>just before the aborted kidnapping.</p><p>Her aura was an almost pearly white, which meant she was a follower of Life…a healer, if she was looking in on him and the rose-shaped badge on her tunic was any indication.  Clint was willing to bet she hadn’t had that badge for long, judging from her age. </p><p>“Glad to see you’re awake,” she greeted him cheerfully, her accent placing her as a native of Brittanium.  She bustled forward, her long, pale blue, tunic fluttering about her knees and her flat-heeled shoes making not a sound on the decking as she came to stand next to the bed.  “My name is Jemma Simmons, and I’m the ship’s Healer.” She held out a hand toward him, not yet touching him.  “May I?”</p><p>Clint appreciated her asking permission.  He nodded, giving it, and she rested her fingers against his forehead, tips cool against his skin.  He felt the tingle of her gift as she used it to examine him physically.  It was gentle, and he relaxed into her power, letting her check out his condition and soothe away the pain he’d been experiencing.</p><p>It was only a few ticks before she pulled away.  “You’re healing quite nicely,” she explained.  “We’ll need to have Lance give you a onceover – he’s our Mage, and he was the one who broke the curse that was put on you – but I’m fairly certain you’re well on your way to mending.”</p><p>So, it <em>was</em> a curse and not something else.  Good to know. “Thanks for helping me.”  If he was being honest, Clint hadn’t really been able to depend on a lot of people in his life, and to have strangers save him, and then care for him…it felt a little strange, but nice as well.  There was that cynical voice in the back of his mind that was warning him about letting anyone get too close, out of a certainty that this wouldn’t last, that there was an ulterior motive to the obvious care they were showing him, but in that beat of time he didn’t care.  He would enjoy it for as long as it lasted, then get off this ship at the next port.</p><p>He should have been instantly suspicious.  But he found himself surprisingly fine with events, and he would have to think about why that was, at some point.  He suspected that it had something to do with the Aalveyn Tal’endi, although why he didn’t know.</p><p>“It was our pleasure,” Jemma answered warmly.  “Oh, and Daisy is looking out for your dog.  She’s a Druid, so she knows what she’s doing.  I’m sure she’ll be bringing him along presently.”</p><p>Clint was a bit surprised by the fact that, not only did this ship have a Tal’endi on board, but also a druid, a healer, a self-shaper, and a mage.  Most trading vessels were all made up of sailors, with a pilot, a weatherwitch, and a handful of fighters, so this eclectic collection of talent was just a tad bit amazing. </p><p>“What ship is this?” he inquired, even though he was pretty sure he knew.  Confirmation was always a good thing, after all.  “And how long have I been here?”</p><p>“This is <em>Lola’s</em> <em>Dream</em>,” and there was the confirmation, “and our home port is the Shield Islands.  Our Captain is Phillipjaraynan’coulson …but we all call him Captain Phil for short, since shouting out his full name takes up too much time, and it’s damned inconvenient when you’re in the midst of a storm or a pirate raid.”  Jemma grinned. </p><p>Clint couldn’t help but chuckle at that.  Aalveyn names were always a mouthful; not very many people could pronounce them easily, and yet Jemma had done an admirable job, even getting the short clicking sound before the Aalveyn clan name correct.  The mercenary had dealt with the Aalveyn a couple of times, and he thought he’d heard of the Coulson Clan before…he’d have to think about it, once he quit aching.</p><p>But he had to wonder if this Captain Phil was the same Aalveyn he’d seen on the docks in Morgantown.  Clint was willing to bet it was, the Aalveyn who also was a member of a secretive sect of Tal’endi.  The one who’d saved him, when he hadn’t had to. </p><p>Well, it had been the woman who’d done most of the saving but, if he was indeed the captain, then he would have ordered the actual rescue.</p><p>“You’ve been unconscious for two days,” the healer continued, “so you haven’t lost <em>too</em> much time.”</p><p>That was good.  Clint was glad of that.  “We’re at sea, aren’t we.”  He didn’t phrase that as a question; there was no need, since it was pretty obvious from the ship’s motions.</p><p>Jemma nodded.  “The captain felt it best that we put to sea right away.  There would have been all sorts of questions if we’d hung around, once those men who’d attempted to arrest you were found, and they’d been beaten up quite badly.”</p><p>She had a point.  But it also meant that these people were absconding with a wanted fugitive…even though Clint hadn’t done a damned thing to have a warrant sworn out on him.  If they’d been caught… yes, their captain had done the smart thing, leaving Morgantown as soon as they possibly could.</p><p>But that led to another question…why had they done it?  Clint was nobody, and there was no real reason why they’d have risked their port privileges by helping him escape.  <em>Lola’s Dream </em>had been a merchant vessel, and this Captain Phil could have been locked out of Morgantown for good if it got around to the port authority that Clint had left with this ship.  That had put any contracts they’d had there in serious danger, and all for a complete stranger.  It would have been easier for them to have let those men take Clint; he could have straightened things out eventually.</p><p>There was a small, tiny voice in the back of his mind that was whispering to him that it would never have happened that way, that those men had been happy hurting a dog so there was no way they would have balked at damaging Clint more than they had already.  Those bastards had <em>cursed</em> him, for Havens’ sake. </p><p>Clint was about to thank her again for going out of the way to get him away from Morgantown when he was interrupted by the door opening, and a man stepped through.  He was about medium height, with dark hair and dark eyes, and looked as if he held some sort of grudge against shaving from the obvious scruff on his face.  He was dressed all in dark colors; dark grey shirt over black trousers and boots, his clothes rumpled in a way that told Clint that he must have slept in them at some point…or he’d just flung them off when he’d undressed for the night, not caring if they got wrinkled.  Clint leaned toward the latter, having done the same thing himself a few times.</p><p>His aura flashed, showing predominately purple, marking him as a devotee of Magic.  So, this must have been the man, Lance, that Jemma had mentioned.</p><p>Before he could introduce himself, however, he was knocked aside by a pale blur which resolved itself into Lucky, the dog jumping up onto the bed and slobbering all over Clint’s face in his excitement, his blunt nails scratching at Clint’s bare chest but not breaking the skin.  At least his rear paws weren’t landing anywhere overly delicate, thank the Deities.</p><p>“Aw, Lucky…” he grasped the ruff on both sides of Lucky’s head, sinking his fingers into familiar fur, glad more than anything that his canine companion was alright.  He couldn’t help but notice the bandage on Lucky’s front right leg; the dog was favoring it, not putting much weight on it even as he was attacking Clint for attention.</p><p>Laughter brought the mercenary’s attention away from Lucky, who plopped down across Clint’s chest, practically pinning him to the bed.  He managed to look up, seeing another young woman now standing in the doorway, her laughter aimed at the mage, who was grumbling about being pushed aside by a wild animal.  Clint couldn’t help his own grin; Jemma was fussing at Lucky for pouncing on her patient, but even she was smiling happily at their reunion and was taking the opportunity to give the dog a scratch.  Lucky’s tongue lolled out at her, his doggy smile aimed at his newest friend.</p><p>Anyone who gave Lucky scratches was considered a friend.  Well, not <em>everyone</em>, but Lucky was usually a very good judge of character.  He’d just deemed Jemma a good person, worthy of giving him attention. </p><p>This newest arrival would have passed for a full-blood Aalveyn at first glance; she had the tall, pointed ears that certainly marked that race.  However, there was something off about her…those ears had not as many of the graceful swirling folds as Aalveyn ears had, and she lacked the look of agelessness that the Aalveyn held; no one could ever tell exactly how old an Aalveyn actually was.  They could look like they were in their teens and yet be a thousand turns old.  This young woman <em>looked</em> her age, but if Clint had been asked to explain out aloud he wouldn’t have been able to.  Which meant she was <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn, a half-blood, one of her parents had been a full Aalveyn and the other Human. </p><p>There was also her faint Achanri features, and the mercenary thought for a beat that she could have been the daughter of the captain and the warrior woman who’d taken down four heavily armed men in the blink of an eye.  But, no.  Beyond that obvious foreign blood, this youngster didn’t resemble either of them. </p><p>This was the druid that Jemma had mentioned, the one who’d taken care of Lucky for him.  Daisy.  Which was as far from being an Aalveyn name as a person could possibly get, and meant that her Human parent must have been the one who’d raised her.  Her aura sang to him, as she followed the Goddess of Darkness as he did, except where he was of the Huntress, she was of the Earth, of living things, plants and animals.  They were kin, in a way, connected by their allegiance to Darkness.</p><p>Daisy was an apt name for a druid, actually.  He wondered if her parents had named her that <em>before</em> or <em>after</em> they’d figured out the flavor of her gifts.</p><p>She caught him looking at her, and she smiled.  “I’m Daisy.  Lucky’s certainly glad to see you.”</p><p>Just Daisy.  No clan name or family name.  Another possible sign that a Human parent had been responsible for her upbringing, although if she had been there would have been that family name attached.  And she was young enough that she must have only just earned her Druid designation, although she could possibly take after her Aalveyn parent and have a much longer lifespan, but Clint wasn’t so sure about that.</p><p>“Thank you.”  It wasn’t enough.  It would never be enough. She’d helped Lucky, and Clint could never repay that. </p><p>“He’s a good boy,” the druid girl answered.  “He really likes you.  He bragged about how you saved him when he’d been beaten and left for dead.”</p><p>Lucky woofed softly in agreement, and Clint’s heart clenched painfully in his chest.  While he might have followed Darkness, he wasn’t a druid, and didn’t have the ability to speak to animals.  Yes, he could tell when Lucky was happy and sad in broad, general strokes, but it was more instinct than any sort of communication.  So, to hear that from Daisy, was an affirmation from the animal that he’d done the best he could and that it was appreciated.</p><p>Clint hugged Lucky; he couldn’t help it.  Lucky licked his chin.  His breath smelled vaguely of fish.</p><p>“If I can get in here and do my scans please?” the mage demanded, his own accent marking him from somewhere south of Brittanium; unlike Jemma’s, which was much more refined and more to the north. </p><p>Jemma rolled her eyes fondly.  “Lance will check you, and make certain the curse is well and truly dissipated.”</p><p>“Then the Captain wants to see him,” Daisy added.  She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her black leather jerkin more a slightly padded form of armor than a shirt.  There was a dagger tucked into her right boot, hilt bright against the darkness of her trousers.  “That’s if he’s good to get up out of bed.”</p><p>“<em>Him</em> is right here,” Clint snarked, a little irritated that they were talking around him, so to speak.</p><p>At least Jemma had the decency to look a little apologetic for it.</p><p>The mage, Lance, took a single step closer, raising a hand; again, at least Jemma had asked before she’d poked him with her magic. </p><p>Lance’s purple aura flared – Clint usually liked purple, but he was beginning to be irritated by it in this circumstance – and the mercenary could <em>feel</em> the scan begin.  It wasn’t quite as pleasant as Jemma’s had been, but he lay there and dealt with it, holding Lucky against his chest and letting his dog’s presence keep him calm. </p><p>The mage had just finished when Jemma smacked him hard in the arm.  “What was that for?” Lance demanded, rubbing the spot the healer had punched and pouting in a way a grown man shouldn’t.</p><p>“It’s polite to ask permission,” Jemma hissed, her expression disapproving.</p><p>“He knew I was gonna do it!”</p><p>“Still!”</p><p>Daisy was laughing behind the mage’s shoulder.</p><p>Yes, Clint thought it was amusing, too.  “So?” he prompted.  He was bothered by the mage’s assumption that he shouldn’t have had to ask Clint before he’d done magic on the archer, but he let it slide.  He wanted to know about this curse, and if it was gone.  It was galling that someone had been able to sneak up behind him and curse him, and he wished he could go back to Morgantown and kick whoever it was in the ass…although he knew that that woman had done a good enough job on her own when she’d been saving his ass.</p><p>He would have to thank her for that.</p><p>“Oh, right.”  Lance shrugged.  “The curse is gone.  It was a really rudimentary sort of curse, actually, only meant to last long enough to get you to wherever they were gonna take you.  Very obviously store-bought, and I’d hazard to say it was overpriced –”</p><p>“So none of the guys who got the drop on me were mages.”  He hadn’t seen them all, so he couldn’t have said who they were.  The others had been fighters, their auras of Strife.</p><p>“No, not at all.  It was just a mass-produced sort of thing, most likely locked into a stone or something cheap.  Just as cheap as the magic, really.”  Lance sounded disgusted by what he obviously saw as hack work.  Clint couldn’t blame him, really.  Shoddy workmanship was something he could understand, and hated with a passion.</p><p>“Then he should be able to get up and meet the captain,” Daisy decided.  She clapped her hands.  “Your belongings are in the chest,” she pointed toward the one without the lock on it, revealing a set of woven hemp bracelets gracing her wrist, glittering multi-colored gemstones woven into them, “and your clothes are clean and ready to wear…which, by the way, it was a really good idea to hide all your money in your socks, because no one would have dared deal with the smell.  When you’re ready, come on out, and I’ll show you where to go.”</p><p>With that, the <em>halva’</em> Aalveyn ushered the others out, Lance going with a huff and Jemma giving Clint another bright smile as she told him to let her know if he felt any adverse symptoms.  The mercenary just knew he was going to like Daisy; he was well on his way as it was, especially if she’d been the one to wash his smelly socks. Her taking care of Lucky would have been enough to earn his eternal gratitude, but the socks...yeah, they’d been pretty rank.</p><p>It had been nice of them to collect his things from the Broken Arrow, but it begged the question of how they’d known where to look.  It was just one more question he had for the ship’s captain when he saw him.</p><p>“Come on, mutt,” Clint pushed Lucky off, the dog moving but grumbling all the way.  He swung his feet over the side of the bunk, not feeling as much pain as he had when he’d woke up thanks to Jemma and her healer’s touch. </p><p>The deck was actually warm under his bare feet.  He stood, swaying a little, glad that whoever had undressed him as managed to stuff him into an overly large set of sleep pants even if they’d left the shirt off.  As he stripped the pants off, he noticed a bruise on his side, where that one bastard had kicked him when he was down; it was yellow, showing a lot more healing than it should have at that point, and once again he made a note to thank Jemma for the good job she’d done on the minor injuries he’d gotten in the attack. </p><p>He padded over to the trunk, lifting the metal-banded wooden lid to reveal his neatly folded clothes and other things within…including the pouch that had held the money he’d gotten from Lady Helen.  His bow, quiver, and sword were missing; glancing around, Clint noticed that his weapons had been set in a cubby between the head of the bunk and the wall, and he let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding at seeing them.  Enemies wouldn’t have left him his weapons, so it was a pretty good sign that these people were good guys.  If he hadn’t realized that already.</p><p>Clint dressed quickly, noticing that the trousers and shirt certainly smelled a lot fresher than they’d been when he’d left them back at the Broken Arrow Inn, only two days ago.  He slipped on his leather jerkin, leaving the laces untied for now, and pulled on his boots.  They’d left his knife in the trunk as well, so he slid it back into its place in his left boot, also replacing the sword sheath in its usual place at his right hip.  Then, he tugged the strap of his quiver over his head and shoulder, looped his bow over the quiver, and made his way out of the small room, Lucky at his side.</p><p>True to her word, Daisy was waiting for him.  She gave him a smile that wasn’t quite as bright as the ones Jemma gave, but no less sincere, then motioned him to the right. </p><p>Clint took a quick look around before heading in the direction the young druid indicated.  He was in a narrow corridor, the walls so close he wouldn’t have needed to even stretch out both arms to touch them at the same time.  The left-hand side led into what looked like some sort of communal dining area, and at the far side of the room was an opening that must have gone up to the ship’s deck.  To the right was a single closed door at the very end of the hall.  There were other doors along the way, four others in all, and if the mercenary had to guess they led into the same sort of cabin he’d awakened in.  He wondered if he’d displaced a member of the crew from their usual bed, and made a mental note to ask so he could thank them for it.</p><p>The door at the end had to be where the captain’s cabin was. </p><p>His guess proved to be true when Daisy rapped on the wood, announcing their presence.  A familiar voice called out for them to come in, and she pushed the door open, revealing the captain’s cabin beyond.</p><p>It wasn’t large, but it was homey.  There was enough room for a desk at the far end, positioned in front of a pair of wide windows that showed the ocean beyond, the ship’s wake trailing along behind the <em>Lola’s Dream.  </em>There was a bunk that was a little larger than the one Clint had had, and a table that had charts spread out over it.  There were keepsakes on shelves that had been mounted on the walls, as well as a handsome clockwork timepiece that was near the chart table on its own shelf, ticking away.</p><p>But what caught Clint’s attention was the harp, which had been lovingly hung on the wall at the side of the desk from a pair of brass hooks.</p><p>It had been carved from a red-colored wood, most likely cherrywood, the graceful sweep of its body holding the metallic strings taut with fine bone pins.  It was an elegant instrument, yet plain, with no fancy markings or anything that would identify it as something special.</p><p>But the magic in it…oh, the <em>magic</em>…</p><p>“You have a Maelstrom Harp!” he yelped, not bothering to hide his surprise.</p><p>While Clint had never seen one, he’d heard of them.  They were so rare that they were practically priceless, and to see one here, in the cabin of the captain of a trading vessel…yes, the man was a Tal’endi, but that didn’t mean he could have the power to use such a magnificent instrument…</p><p>Obviously, he did, or else it wouldn’t have been there.  The only person who could touch a Maelstrom Harp was the one who could wield it, from what he’d heard.</p><p>Clint spun on his heel, staring at the Aalveyn who was called Captain Phil by his crew.  On first glance, he was much the same as he’d been the night of the rescue:  handsome under the bland and unassuming mask he was wearing, his blue eyes examining Clint as much as the mercenary was examining him.  His ears were pointed, the shell-like whorls within them graceful yet sharp, and a jawline that was strong under cleanshaven tanned skin. He appeared to be somewhere in his forties, but that didn’t mean much where the Aalveyn were concerned, that certain agelessness that Daisy didn’t have. </p><p>His trousers now were black, and his shirt was again white, but this one had an open collar to it that left his throat bare and revealed just a peek of chest hair.  He wasn’t armed, but Clint was of the impression that he really didn’t need a sword to be able to put someone down to the deck.  He just happened to be able to use one, and it was on its own hook near the bed, within easy reach if needed.</p><p>His aura really was a thing of beauty.  It was just as Clint remembered, the blue of a clear summer sky, but this time the tiny lightning bolts were settled, and not showing as they had during the confrontation in Morgantown, which the hunter took to mean he was calm.  It was a strong aura, almost blinding, and it dazzled like the sun on the water.</p><p>And then, there were the wings.</p><p>He got a closer look at them this time.  They were as large as he remembered, arcing tall and proud over the Aalveyn’s head, their bright whiteness almost like a halo surrounding the short brown hair.  He hadn’t imagined the silver-grey that contrasted against all that white, dusting the tips of the long feathers.  They were gorgeous, and the sight almost stole Clint’s breath away.</p><p>However, once again they vanished the moment he blinked his eyes, the captain appearing to be a normal, near-immortal Aalveyn, a single eyebrow raised in surprised question.</p><p>There were times when Clint wished he wasn’t able to see auras, to know secrets that otherwise would have remained hidden. </p><p>However, this wasn’t one of those times. </p><p>He was surprised and in awe and believed he’d never seen anyone quite so beautiful.</p><p>Clint couldn’t allow himself to be distracted.  So, he concentrated on the other two people in the cabin.</p><p>One was the woman who’d so handily kicked ass back on the pier.  Yes, he hadn’t imagined her aura of Fire, a follower of Strife in his aspect as War.  That made so much sense, since she was quite good at beating people up.  Clint wondered what she was like with a weapon, and then had no desire to actually see it.  It was quite terrifying just thinking about it, really.</p><p>The other was the young man he’d seen speaking to Jemma that night.  Dark-skinned and handsome, with a neatly trimmed beard, he was obviously the ship’s pilot, a devotee of Order, with stars in his aura that glittered like the constellations he would have used to steer by. </p><p>All three were standing at the chart table, looking over one of the unrolled maps, but they’d stopped what they were doing when he and Daisy had entered.  Only the warrior woman didn’t seem at all surprised by his outburst over the Harp, although her eyes were snapping with emotion; the pilot’s mouth was open and his eyes wide, while the captain had that eyebrow up in inquiry.</p><p>“How did you know that?” the warrior demanded, her voice sharp. </p><p>“Melinda.”  Captain Phil’s voice was calm in the eye of her anger.</p><p>“Phil –” she was set to argue, but almost physically bit her tongue.</p><p>“She’s got a point,” the pilot drawled.  “He’s the first one who’s ever pegged the Harp’s true nature.”</p><p>“Master Barton is our guest,” the captain went on, “and he will be treated as such.  That means no interrogations, any of you.”</p><p>“That’s no fun,” Daisy groused.</p><p>“Nevertheless.”  He might have projected blandness, but the Aalveyn was implacable in the face of his crew’s curiosity.</p><p>“How did you know my name?” Clint wanted to know, suddenly wary of these people, although they’d done nothing but help him and get him away from whatever was going on in Morgantown.  Did they have ulterior motives?  Usually the mercenary wasn’t this trusting, and suddenly he was suspicious that he’d been the victim of some sort of magic.  Had the ship’s mage put him under some sort of spell that made him not even think about just what was going on?</p><p>The Tal’endi stepped forward, his hands away from his sides, in a show of capitulation.  “You’re Clint Barton, Master Hunter,” he answered, “and I know who you are because I was sent to find you.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Alright, perhaps Phil should not have put it that way, but he’d known that truth in this circumstance had been the way to go.  But putting it so bluntly…</p><p>Barton had an arrow nocked and aimed right at Phil’s heart faster than his eyes could even follow.  The Aalveyn would have been impressed if it wasn’t <em>him</em> it was being pointed at. </p><p>It did make him even more sure that Clint Barton truly was a Master Hunter.  He’d gone for his bow instead of his sword, despite the tight quarters, and the bow was the instrument of a true hunter.  The blade would have made more sense, and yet it had been that well cared for bow that had been the man’s first thought.  And, even though there wasn’t a lot of room for an arrow to travel, Phil had no doubt that it would be just as deadly in the confined space than if they’d been up on the deck and at a distance.</p><p>Barton backed up until his back hit the wall.  Phil hid his flinch at the hunter dislodging one of the shelves that the Aalveyn had mounted there, but at least none of the knickknacks there were knocked to the floor.</p><p>Honestly, Clint Barton fascinated him.  He’d recognized the Harp for what it was, and that had been a surprise.  Trip had been correct; no one had done that before, and Phil was impressed.  Their guest obviously was more than he appeared, and he had to wonder just what else he was able to <em>see</em>, if that was one of his gifts.</p><p>His heart beat a little faster, and the Aalveyn could suddenly feel the weight of his wings under Barton’s suspicious gaze, even though they weren’t exactly <em>present</em> at the tick.  If he could see the magic in the Harp, could he also see the wings that marked him as a Tal’endi?  There were good reasons that he hid his wings, and Phil didn’t want to be outed in front of his crew.  Oh, it wasn’t that the captain didn’t trust them; he did, with his life.  But, this was about his <em>wings</em>, and no one on this ship knew about them.  Phil had been practically <em>programmed</em> to keep this secret, by his clan and his damned <em>father</em>, and to have someone <em>see</em> them…it was terrifying in a way he couldn’t describe.</p><p>Still, he couldn’t let his fear of being revealed get the better of him.  He needed to deal with this first, and <em>then</em> the possible personal ramifications of having Clint Barton around.</p><p>“Who are you?” the hunter demanded.</p><p>Phil could see out of the corner of his eye that Melinda had taken a step forward, her very posture communicating that she was ready for a fight.  Daisy, still standing in the doorway, had her hand outstretched, and the last thing they needed would be for the deck grow a tree or something along those lines.  He caught her eye, shaking his head; as he watched, Daisy lowered her hand, taking a deep breath in order to steady her nerves.  She didn’t look happy at backing down, but they just couldn’t risk a confrontation like that, not with her level of power.</p><p>Phil couldn’t see Trip from the angle he was standing in, but could guess his pilot was just as surprised as everyone else was, and just as ready to kick Barton’s ass if necessary. </p><p>Phil took his own step forward, hands out from his sides and away from the knife on his belt, which was the only weapon he was carrying at the tick.   It wasn’t as if he really <em>needed</em> it, not with his gifts, but he wanted to project calm…even if he wasn’t feeling particularly calm at the moment.  “Melinda, Trip, Daisy…stand down.  And leave us alone.”</p><p>“But Phil –” Daisy protested.  Phil had long ago realized that she thought of him as a father figure, and would do anything to protect him, but he couldn’t let her stay while he tried to talk Barton down. </p><p>He’d once offered her his clan name, but Daisy had refused.  She hadn’t given him an explanation, but he’d respected her decision, trying not to be too hurt by her denial knowing that she had good reasons for it and would share whenever she was ready to.</p><p>It wasn’t as if he wasn’t keeping his own secret from her, after all.</p><p>“Please.  Clear the room.”  He didn’t want to make it an order, but would have if that was what it took.</p><p>Phil glanced back at Barton.  He hadn’t lowered the bow from its target – the Aalveyn’s heart – but his eyes were darting between the four of them, as if assessing which was the larger threat.  If the hunter could see that Phil owned a Maelstrom Harp, then he had no doubt that his assessment went deeper than just the physical.</p><p>There really was no escape for Clint Barton.  He was on a ship at sea, surrounded by powerful people, and yet Phil was willing to bet that he would shoot at the slightest sign of any sort of danger toward himself.  And that the captain would be the first casualty.</p><p>Well, Phil wanted to avoid <em>that, </em>even if every single member of his crew would stand in line to avenge him…Melinda first.  And, if Barton <em>did</em> manage to kill him, then he was going to come back and haunt Nick Fury into the next eternity.</p><p>Trip moved first, side-walking into Phil’s line of sight and toward the cabin door. “By your order, Captain,” he replied, his dark eyes implacably aimed toward their guest.  Phil got the feeling that he would be in that avenging line right behind Melinda.</p><p>Deities, but he loved his crew, despite the fact that he’d lose most of them before he was ready.</p><p>Melinda followed Trip; however, it was obvious she wasn’t happy about it, but wasn’t going to risk Phil’s life to make a move.  He was sure she’d be having words with him later, about being self-sacrificing and to <em>cut that shit out</em>.</p><p>Daisy was standing, her fists clenched, and it was apparent she was barely holding her temper in check.  But she, too, left, closing the door behind the three of them. They would be plotting the moment that door was closed, how to get back in, take Barton out, and save Phil’s life in the process.  He was certainly going to do his best to make that unnecessary.</p><p>The Aalveyn would always wonder just what he’d done to earn the respect of his crew.  He was pretty sure he really didn’t deserve them all.</p><p>Barton still kept his arrow aimed right at the captain’s heart.  Phil tried to look unconcerned and, from the confused expression in the archer’s eyes – they were mostly blue, but there was green and brown in them as well – he was succeeding.  Good.  He needed to seem to be in control, to be unafraid of that sharp arrow, in order to get the man to calm down.</p><p>Mack had had breakfast brought in before heading to his bunk for the day.  Phil shifted toward the plate that his Second Mate had left, picking up one of the pastries there.  “Care for a bacon roll?” he offered.  “They’re made by my Second Mate, and Mack is one of the best cooks I’ve ever seen.”  </p><p>He took a bite, knowing they would taste as good as they smelled.  Even from where he was standing, he could hear Barton’s stomach rumbling.  The dog, who Daisy had said was named Lucky, sniffed the air and then ambled over toward the Aalveyn, giving Phil the best pitiful expression he’d ever seen… and he’d witnessed Leo that time he’d brought that monkey on board and asked if he could keep it.   </p><p>Phil couldn’t help but smile and gave the dog a piece of bacon.  Lucky planted his butt down on the deck and wagged his tail. </p><p>“Aw, dog…no,” Barton sighed.  As if the dog accepting him was a sign, the hunter relaxed his guard a little, although he still had his bow and arrow ready to let fly.</p><p>Phil was just glad that Barton seemed a little less likely to kill him since Lucky had apparently accepted him as a decent person.  He gave the dog another piece of bacon as a ‘thank you’ for that.</p><p>“Your Second Mate is also your cook?”  Barton seemed a little surprised by that, but then Phil couldn’t blame him.  Usually, Second Mates were a lot higher in a ship’s hierarchy to act as cook.</p><p>The captain shrugged, feeding Lucky another piece of the bacon from his roll. Lucky gave him a low woof in thanks.  “Mack volunteered, if only to keep certain other members of the crew getting near the galley.” Phil still remembered when Leo had attempted to make a meal, they’d barely gotten the fire out in time.  “He’s also the only true seaman on this vessel, so that gives him a bit of leeway in the eyes of the rest of the crew.”</p><p>That caused Barton to lower his bow slightly.  “You only have one sailor onboard? How does that work, exactly?”</p><p>If telling Barton about the <em>Dream</em> and her crew would help, then that was what he was going to do. “My entire crew has been trained pretty thoroughly at working onboard.  I handpicked my people, and each one of them has a function on the <em>Dream. </em>Each has a part to play.  But, when we’re at sea, Mack is the most important member of this crew.”  He smirked a little.  “Sometimes I wonder if he’s really the captain and not me.  He’d deny it, of course.”  Mack had often claimed he didn’t want to be the captain of <em>anything</em>.  He was perfectly fine with supporting whatever leader was in charge.  Phil counted on him for a lot, and he’d more than proved his worth.  Even if he had a tendency to argue some of the Aalveyn’s decisions.  Mack usually had a good reason to do it, and Phil appreciated it at times because those disagreements often brought new insight.  Besides, he was no seaman, and his Second Mate was. </p><p>“Mack makes sure we’re in the good graces of Peace, as her incarnation as the Sea Maid, so our passages are usually smooth,” the captain continued.  “He’s in her pretty high favor, which is nice since he’s also her only devotee onboard, as well.”</p><p>Clint blinked.  “But what about the self-shaper?” </p><p>The captain cocked his head, confused.  They didn’t have a self-shaper…oh, of course.  “Ah, you mean Goose.  Oh, he’s not a self-shaper, although I can understand why you’d think so…and, I’d really love to know how you’d figured that out.  No, Goose is a Flerken.”</p><p>That revelation had Clint lowering his bow completely, shock in his eyes.  Not that Phil could blame him; Flerkens weren’t seen about all that often, and were capricious in their attentions.  He had been surprised when he’d realized that Goose was even onboard for this trip, and to be honest it had made him wonder if this mission was something other than just finding a mercenary and bringing him back to Zephyr Cay.   </p><p>“I thought Flerkens were a myth!” Barton exclaimed. </p><p>“They’re rare, but not a myth.” The captain took another bite of his breakfast.  “Goose is a free spirit.  He comes and goes as he pleases.  He was just pleased to come with us this trip.”</p><p>Phil could see the thoughts going through the hunter’s head, putting Goose’s presence on board with his suspicions and deciding to go along with things for the time being.  After all, Flerken were the creation of Peace, and were of Water, as immutable as the tides, and to have one on board meant that the crew was blessed by the Deity in whatever endeavor they were undertaking. </p><p>Oh, the Aalveyn knew that Barton didn’t trust them.  Not yet.  Phil was going to have to work on that.</p><p>However, that mistrust didn’t stop him from putting the arrow back in his quiver and taking one of the bacon rolls, biting halfway through the pastry and moaning obscenely at the taste.</p><p><em>Deities</em>.</p><p>Phil had, despite himself, considered Clint Barton an attractive man.  He was well-built, muscular, and obviously competent at what he did.  He wasn’t conventionally handsome; a life on the road did that to a person, the lines of his experience writ large on his face. </p><p>But there was something about him, something intangible, and the Aalveyn couldn’t put his finger on it.  He’d have time, though.  It would be two tendays to get to Zephyr Cay, after all.</p><p>However, he’d keep his distance as much as he could.  Getting close to people led to heartbreak when Phil outlived them; he was already too close to too many people, he would need to stop doing that to himself.</p><p>“So,” Barton said, after he’d demolished one bacon roll and had helped himself to another, “just what did you mean by saying you’d been sent to find me.”</p><p>“An old friend of mine told me about you,” Phil explained.  He lifted the coffee carafe that had been provided along with the bacon rolls; Mack also made the best tasting coffee the Aalveyn had ever drank. </p><p>Barton accepted, so Phil poured some into an empty mug, offering the cream and sugar as well; Trip usually had more cream than coffee with his breakfast, which he just didn’t understand.  Barton politely refused as he slung his bow back over his shoulder, looping the string around his quiver so he had both hands free. </p><p>“Coffee is the nectar of the Twelve,” the hunter proclaimed, “and should never be diluted with anything.”</p><p>Phil laughed, he couldn’t help it. </p><p>He then went on with his story.  “I can’t tell you why Nick wanted us to locate you – he didn’t explain, and if you knew Nick Fury you’d know you can’t force a thing from him when he doesn’t want to share – but he does have his reasons, which are usually good ones.  He tasked me to bring you to him on Zephyr Cay.  Little did I know I’d have to rescue you from a group of bounty hunters bound and determined to take you in.”</p><p>“Yeah, I have no idea what they wanted,” Barton admitted.  “I haven’t committed any crimes.”  The unspoken <em>lately</em> hung in the air between them.  Phil didn’t think it needed to be brought up.</p><p>“Nick said you were completely trustworthy, although I’m not sure how he knew that, either.”  He shrugged.  “I was going to use my contacts to find you, but in the end I didn’t need to.  Chaos works in mysterious ways, putting us in your path.”  And no, he wasn’t about to say anything about Melinda’s calling him a spymaster.  Because, after some thought, that really was the word for what Phil did for Nick, who seemed to not want to set foot within Waverlyn.</p><p>“If you hadn’t saved me, how were you planning on convincing me to come with you?”</p><p>“I was going to try and hire you on Nick’s behalf.  Although that might have been harder than normal, if what I’d heard about your taking down <em>seven</em> deathstrikes was true.  You could set your own price and anyone would be perfectly willing to pay it.”  If it hadn’t been Mike Peterson telling that story, Phil would have called bullshit.  However, having now met Barton, he could tell the man was highly skilled and competent enough to do it.</p><p>“And even harder than that, because I’d decided to take some time off, since I’d gotten a really big bonus from my last employer.  And that seven deathstrikes…” he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, and Phil wasn’t about to find that endearing, “I was doing the job I was hired to do.  That’s all.”</p><p>“And see, that is another point in your favor…you’re not making a big deal out of what you did, even though I doubt there’s anyone who could brag about that sort of thing.  That makes you a singular individual, Master Barton.”  Had he just gushed like that?  Good gracious Deities…</p><p>Barton looked as uncomfortable as Phil felt at that ringing compliment, and took a sip of his coffee, most likely to hide his embarrassment.  “Damn.”  He stared at the mug like it was an idol to one of the Gods.  “If your Second Mate made this, you need to keep him forever.”</p><p>Phil laughed, glad for the change of subject.  “Every single person on this crew agrees with you.”  He took a sip of his own coffee, motioning Barton to one of the chairs. </p><p>The archer accepted, although he had to put the coffee down long enough to remove his bow and quiver in order to do it.  He looped the strap of his quiver over one of the spindles on the back of the straight-backed chair, within easy reach.  Phil didn’t blame him; he was still in the midst of strangers, with no real way to escape.   </p><p>“How did you even know where I was staying?” Barton asked.  “I couldn’t help but notice that you collected my belongings.”</p><p>“That was one of my contacts.  He was in your caravan, and he told me where you usually stayed when you were in town.”  He didn’t want to exactly reveal Mike to the man, but he would if he was asked. </p><p>It turned out that Barton was going to accept that little piece of information at face value, taking another bite of his bacon roll.  He pretended not to notice the hunter feeding Lucky his own piece pf bacon, when the dog rested his head on the mercenary’s knee and looked pitiful.</p><p>“I’m sorry I can’t give you any more information,” Phil went on, taking his own chair.  “Nick just didn’t give me anything else.  But he was adamant that we find you, and bring you to Zephyr Cay.” The Aalveyn’s lips twisted sardonically.  “He’s so used to giving impossible orders then having them carried out that he didn’t even flinch when I informed him it would be like searching for a particular piece of straw in fifty haystacks.  ‘I have faith in you,’ he said, ‘you won’t fail me,’ he said.  I guess he was right, but I doubt he would have foreseen it happening quite this way.”</p><p>Barton reached over for another bacon roll, and Phil was glad that they hadn’t had a chance to eat any of them before Daisy had escorted the archer to the captain’s cabin, or else there might not have been enough to go around.  “To be honest, I was thinking it was time for me to take some time away from Waverlyn, even though it’s my home.  But to do it like this…”  It was obvious that he was confused and hurt and everything in between.  “Your contacts wouldn’t have had any idea why the King of Waverlyn was after me?”</p><p>Phil shook his head.  “The first I’d heard of it was from that so-called bounty hunter.  I admit though that we hadn’t really been in Morgantown all that long.  We’d only had a couple of marks to check in with anyone and then we left in too much of a rush to find out anything else.”  He was really hoping that their suddenly sailing off hadn’t damaged any of their contacts.  That was the last thing Phil would have wanted. </p><p>“Sorry about that,” Barton sighed. </p><p>Phil waved that off.  “I don’t think it’s your fault.  At least we were able to save you.  That’s what’s important.”  And not just because of Nick’s mission.  There was something about Barton, something that the Aalveyn couldn’t figure out.  He believed the hunter when he claimed that he had no idea why there was a royal warrant out for him.  Which meant something was going behind the scenes that involved Barton in some way, a way that was hidden from view.</p><p>He suspected that Nick knew.  But then, his friend often knew things that seemed impossible.  If he wasn’t already a Priest of Darkness, the Aalveyn would have sworn he was a knower or far-seer.  He was just that uncanny sometimes.</p><p>Well, there were certain to be explanations once they reached Zephyr Cay.  Phil doubted they would get any until they reached their home port. </p><p>And he would have two tendays in order to get to know Clint Barton.  He was looking forward to it.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Virgianalanyan’coulson – or, as everyone called her, Pepper – sighed as she carried the pair of heavy baskets down towards the kitchen, the large bundle of keys on the belt of her dress jingling as she walked.  Tony called those keys her ‘cat bell’, and he wasn’t far wrong; it really was impossible for her to physically sneak anywhere within the tower while she wore them.  And, as Chatelaine of Stark Tower, they were useful in many ways, up to and including being able to track down her wayward Lord when Stark business had her flushing him out of hiding and he’d foolishly thought he could hide behind a locked door.</p><p>Not that he could <em>really</em> hide from her.  Pepper had an innate sense of him, thanks to the gifts given her by Good.  Those gifts also meant that she really didn’t <em>need</em> to sneak anywhere, as her mind could easily do the sneaking for her, and most of Stark Tower was under her mental purview.  Her gifts might not have been the strongest, but she could at least tell if anything was wrong with any of the residents there.  All she had to do was <em>look</em>.</p><p>The usual tenday grocery order from the town had arrived, and she’d taken it upon herself to carry the overly laden baskets down to the kitchen.  Pepper had only gotten across the garden from the rear gate when she regretted that decision, her shoulders already feeling pulled out of their sockets. It was at times such as this that she wished her gifts were mental lifting, and not mind reading.</p><p>She was just about to give up, put the baskets down, and go for help when a large shadow fell over her, and she looked up, smiling as she recognized – both physically and mentally – who it was.  “Good day, Brukk,” she greeted.</p><p>Brukk Ban’ner was taller than her by at least half, but there was something gentle about the Skell that had put Pepper at ease from the moment she’d met him.  His armored green skin gleamed in the sunlight, his equally green eyes crinkling at the corners as he returned her smile.  “Good day, Pepper.”  His voice didn’t quite fit the physical aura of danger that he seemed to exude; it was calm, made to put people at ease in a way that his large form could never do. </p><p>“I’m surprised to see you outside the forge.”  Brukk was a Forge Master, like many of his people, and he usually spent his days at the forge helping to create the more outrageous devices born of Tony’s wild imagination.  His thick fingers didn’t look it, but they were deft and graceful and, when he wasn’t beating metal into acquiescence to his will, the Skell was creating the finest pieces of jewelry Pepper had ever seen.  Her favorite hair comb was one such piece, made of silver with gemstones set along the edge.  It was beautiful and she loved it almost beyond any other gift she’d received in all her life.</p><p>“I <em>was</em>,” Brukk rumbled, reaching out and taking one of the baskets without being asked, “but Lord Obadiah’s just arrived, and you know how he feels about me being here.  I was going to head into Starktown for a bit, to get out of the way.”</p><p>Pepper flinched, automatically casting her thoughts outward and sensing their ‘visitor’.  Lord Obadiah Stane, Tony’s godfather, was a bigoted asshole who hated anything not Human. He barely tolerated <em>her</em> being there, and he downright loathed Brukk.  She could certainly understand why he’d want to make himself scarce, even if Lord Obadiah wouldn’t have stepped foot within the Stark forges unless dragged, kicking and screaming.</p><p>Brukk was one of the sweetest people Pepper knew, even if he did have a temper that sometimes got the better of him.  There were a lot of Aalveyn who would have sneered at him and cursed him, but not Pepper.  But then, she wasn’t like most of her kin, who still held grudges against the Skell for their attempted genocide of the Aalveyn race back during the Fourth Eternity.  That was long over, the Aalveyn and the Skell were at peace…even if it was an uneasy one.  And Brukk hadn’t been one of those who’d hunted her Race nearly to extinction, those were all long passed to the Havens, so it made no sense to hold the actions of his ancestors against him.</p><p>She was more like her cousin, Phil, in that respect.  Which she thought was a very good thing indeed.  And it was one of the many reasons she’d left home to make her own way, following her cousin’s example…if not for the same reason that Phil had done so.  Pepper hadn’t been burdened by clan duty and expectation, like her cousin had.  There were also other motivations for him leaving, ones that Pepper didn’t care to think about, that she hadn’t been aware of until long after the fact.  Else, her leaving might have been far louder and angrier than it <em>had</em> been.</p><p>“You going down to the kitchens with this?” the Skell hefted the basket like it weighed nothing at all. </p><p>“I was,” she answered, “but I’ll understand if you don’t want to come…”</p><p>Brukk rolled his eyes good-naturedly.  “The only other place Lord Obadiah is liable to never set foot in, besides the stables, the forge, or Tony’s workshop, are the kitchens.”</p><p>He certainly had a point.  Not only was the lord a bigot, but he was also a snob.  He practically snubbed the Jarvises, and they were the reason this place ran as well as it did, along with Pepper herself.  It probably had something to do with the fact that Edwin and Ana had practically raised Tony after his parents had died, nearly thirty turns ago, almost on the heels of King Charles coming to power. </p><p>No one had been able to prove it, but Pepper knew Tony believed that Howard and Maria had been assassinated.  Pepper took those beliefs a step further, wondering if, somehow, the current ruler of Waverlyn had had something to do with it.  There’d been a purge of sorts, of the families that hadn’t exactly agreed with King Charles having come to the throne the way he had…not that a lot of people remembered that anymore.  And there were still so many questions about what had happened to the old royal family, despite what the history books claimed, due to the sheer lack of witnesses to the event.</p><p>Brukk reached out for the second basket, which Pepper surrendered without a fuss.  They really were quite heavy, and she wasn’t averse to having help.  “I hope Lord Obadiah arriving didn’t interrupt anything too important,” she said, as she headed toward the door in the tower wall that opened into the stairs that led to the kitchens.</p><p>“Not really,” the Skell admitted, “although Tony might not think so…”</p><p>So, it was one of Tony’s projects that Brukk had been working on.  Well, <em>that</em> was bound to go over well once the Lord of the Tower found out. </p><p>Brukk barely fit through the door, but the stairwell beyond was broad and high enough to admit him easily.  The kitchens were at what used to be the base of the tower; that had changed once Tony had excavated his workshop, wanting to put it deep underground in order to avoid any mishaps within the tower proper.  Tony Stark was a fairly powerful mage, and he loved to tinker with things that could easily explode if not handled correctly.  He was also intrigued by science of any kind which, since Magic and Science were opposites, made him an extraordinary individual in Pepper’s book.  Not many people expanded outside their own spheres, so to speak, so for someone as influential as Tony Stark to do it was sending a message that Pepper could certainly agree with.</p><p>Progressive ideas, especially in this day and age, were few and far between.  They’d become that way, with King Charles in command of the country.  He wasn’t exactly known for embracing change.</p><p>The kitchens themselves were spacious, with plenty of room for storage and prep areas, as well as a small table that Edwin and Ana used when they took their own meals.  Both Jarvises were there, Ana bustling about, obviously preparing what must have been a tea tray with drinks and snacks; she must have already gotten word that Lord Obadiah was visiting and was requiring refreshment.  Her husband, Edwin, was helping, taking the kettle from the stove and pouring it over whatever brand of tea they were using today; most likely the one from Brittanium, which was Lord Obadiah’s favorite and yet no one else in the tower particularly cared for.  Pepper was a coffee drinker, herself; as was Tony, and they only kept the tea around for just such an occasion.</p><p>Brukk set the baskets down on one of the long tables that took up most of the space, underneath a rack where herbs were hanging, drying after being brought in from one of the tenants that was happy to sell their wares directly with the tower.  The Starks had always been a powerful family and their lands extended from the mountains in the west, toward the University in the north, and to the lake country in the east.  The southern border was at the Forest of Shadows, which gave the Starks the largest area of land in all of Waverlyn.  There had been times when the Kings and Queens of Waverlyn had attempted to annex large parcels of it, but the family had been there for an extremely long time, although not a lot of people knew exactly <em>how</em> long.  There had always been a Stark there and, as far as Pepper knew, there always would be…although Tony had been a little hesitant to get himself a blood heir.   </p><p>“Thank you,” Ana said gratefully, her slight accent clear and soothing.  She had never said where she’d been born, and Pepper had the impression that her leaving hadn’t been a good one.  As someone who’d left their own home under not the best of circumstances, the Aalveyn wasn’t about to push.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Brukk answered, stepping to the side in order to stay out of her way.  “Pepper was bringing them down herself before I stumbled over her.”</p><p>Ana turned and gave Pepper that disapproving eyebrow that she was so very good at, and made her feel like she was an unruly child…even though she was at least six hundred turns older than Ana.  “I didn’t realize they were going to be so heavy,” she found herself defending her actions.</p><p>“It’s the usual tenday delivery,” Ana chided gently.  “You should know that by now.”</p><p>Well, she had a point, but Pepper wasn’t going to admit that she was correct.  “You mind if we hide down here while Lord Obadiah is in residence?”  She hoped he wasn’t going to stay long; the man was usually at court, for which they were all grateful.</p><p>Even Tony, although he still felt <em>some</em> love toward the man that his father had named his godfather just after he’d been born.  The Lord of the Tower disapproved of Lord Obadiah’s toadying up to the King, especially with some of the policies that had come into being over the last ten turns or so.  Taxes were getting outrageous and, because Tony cared about the people who relied on him, had taken the extra cost on himself.  It really wouldn’t put much of a dent on the Stark coffers, but it would have hurt the tenants who worked the lands about the tower. </p><p>However, Tony had to at least <em>pretend</em> to be a loyal citizen.  The previous rulers of Waverlyn hadn’t been able to usurp the Stark Lands, but Tony didn’t have an heir as yet, and Pepper didn’t think it would be beyond King Charles – or even Lord Obadiah, honestly – to assassinate him and make it look like an accident, thus making all of Stark Lands available to take.  It would mean losing not only Tony, but also an ally of the people, who would do anything in his power to make certain his tenants were well taken care of.   They couldn’t risk that.</p><p>But King Charles was of Evil, Pepper’s diametric opposite, and she couldn’t help but sense undercurrents in her own magic in response to the power he held, which had been going on for turns now.  Evil was strong, and Good was reacting to that.  It was almost too subtle to notice, but Pepper had, although her gifts really weren’t all that much to brag about.</p><p>And suddenly, as if the very Deity herself was prompting her, Pepper stepped forward and took the tray from Ana, just as the woman was heading up to wait on Tony and Lord Obadiah. </p><p>“Mistress Pepper,” Edwin objected.  He was of Order, and would not have been able to see why she was going against the order of the household; it would have usually been Ana’s duty to serve, as Pepper herself was Chatelaine and it would have been far below her station to take Ana’s place.</p><p>“I need to do this,” she insisted.  She wouldn’t have been able to put it into words, this need to be in the same room as Obadiah Stane, but it was there.  It had come upon her too suddenly to even <em>think</em> of an excuse, and she would never deny what the Deity willed.  “Please.”</p><p>Brukk was looking at her consideringly, as if he were the knower and not her.  Ana, cocking her head to the side and frowning slightly, passed the overladen tray to Pepper, who gave her a grateful smile. </p><p>Before there could be any more objections, Pepper turned on her heel and, balancing the tray with little difficulty, left the kitchens, feeling the confusion and concern emanating from the thoughts of the three she was leaving behind, even though reading emotions weren’t her strong suit.  She was barely out of the door and taking the stairs up into the tower when Ana’s confusion cleared, and she realized just what Pepper must have been up to.</p><p>Not that Pepper herself knew.  She just understood that she needed to be in the same room – or as close to it as she could get – as Obadiah Stane, to listen to whatever platitudes or demands he would be making, and that was it.  Perhaps it was a need to protect Tony, she wasn’t sure, but she would follow those instincts even if they <em>hadn’t</em> been imparted to her by the Deity. </p><p>The door to the kitchen stairs let out into the formal dining room, and Pepper crossed the room swiftly, only the keys on her belt making any sort of sound as she moved.  Casting her thoughts out, she could sense the two men up another floor, so they must have been in Tony’s study.  From Tony, she was getting frustration and not a little anger in his surface thoughts judging from the muddled curses he was leveling toward his guest; from Lord Obadiah, came smugness and a certainty that he would be getting what he came for.</p><p>Oh, Pepper wished she could knock the man down to size, just once. It would so be worth the bruised knuckles she’d get in the attempt.</p><p>Outside of the dining room was the circular front hall of Stark Tower, doors leading off it like the spokes of a wheel.  The winding staircase that led to the upper floors of the tower started just left of the public sitting room, and the Aalveyn headed up them as quickly as she could, careful not to let anything spill. </p><p>Pepper’s heart was beating too fast, and not because she was in a rush.  No, it was because she absolutely <em>hated</em> being in the same room as Lord Obadiah, and wished she would have stayed down in the kitchens instead.  She knew to expect some sort of racial comment about her, and usually she would just let them roll off her back, but they still bothered her.  No one should have to deal with sort of thing, and she knew it upset Tony as well.  Tony counted on her, relied on her, and genuinely liked and respected her.  She might have been a fairly new member of the Stark household – having been hired in the four turns after the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark – but Tony trusted her as much as she trusted him.  Yes, he could sometimes drive her a little spare, but she’d long grown used to his ways.  Plus, he was a good man, hiding behind snark and pomposity, and only a handful of people were allowed to see the real person underneath.</p><p>Pepper was honored to be one of those few.</p><p>She could hear shouting as she approached Tony’s study.  It was Tony doing the shouting; Lord Obadiah had reduced him to that in record time this visit.  Stifling a sigh, Pepper entered the room – they’d left the door open, which meant every resident in the tower could have heard the row going on – and walked right between Tony, who was standing and staring down at Lord Obadiah, the man seated in one of the overstuffed chairs and looking just as smug as his thoughts indicated.  He wasn’t even bothering to hide it, which meant he’d gone into this meeting, ready to pick a fight.</p><p>Being of Science, Lord Obadiah knew how to debate.  But Pepper had the distinct impression that his words had been meant to goad, even if she hadn’t heard all of them aloud.</p><p>Pepper’s interruption had Tony stepping back and taking a breath, and he glanced at her, gratitude in his dark eyes.  Tony Stark was handsome, with a neat beard, and was actually dressed halfway decently, which meant he hadn’t been in the workshop when Lord Obadiah had arrived.  Pepper could sense he was glad to see her but, at the same time, concerned for her, and she gave him a little nod as she sat the tea tray down on the desk. </p><p>Lord Obadiah was irritated by her entrance, for which she was a little viciously glad of.  His thoughts of her were toxic, but that was nothing new.  She usually did her best to shield herself around him, because the last thing she needed was to be sickened by him, but today…she didn’t.  She <em>wanted</em> to know what he was thinking, what had brough him from Waverlyn Castle to Stark Tower with no warning whatsoever.</p><p>“I see you’ve finally demoted your Aalveyn servant back to a position she deserves,” Lord Obadiah remarked disdainfully.  <em>Aalveyn bitch </em>echoed through his mind.  It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever called her, and to her face as well, usually when Tony wasn’t around.</p><p>“Actually,” Pepper answered, “Ana was busy preparing dinner, so I volunteered to bring up the tea.”</p><p>Oh, he wasn’t pleased that she’d talked back to him, which was fine with Pepper.  She was feeling particularly spiteful at the tick.</p><p>She poured for both of them, Tony thanking her politely while Lord Obadiah wished she’d die a particularly gruesome death silently and not saying a thing aloud.  Pepper had to wonder if he’d ever taken the time to find out that she was a knower, and could read his mind when so inclined.  She doubted it, since she was usually below his notice except to insult.</p><p>Having to put up with Lord Obadiah’s crap had given her a rather unique look into just how the prejudice of her own people affected others.  It made her wish she could drop the hateful Human right into the Clan Council Chamber and let his spite loose on her own people, just so they could see it, too.</p><p>No, that wouldn’t work.  The Clan Chieftains might actually get along with Lord Obadiah, and think he was the best the Human Race could provide.</p><p>Tony had managed to calm himself down by the time Pepper had finished serving them.  She took the risk of stretching out a tendril of her gifts and poking his thoughts gently, so he understood that she was listening in mentally.  He didn’t react, so maybe he’d been expecting it?  That wouldn’t have surprised her.</p><p>Lord Obadiah wasn’t about to speak his mind with her in the room – not so much of a disappointment, really – so Pepper stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her.  She didn’t leave, however; the Aalveyn leaned her head against the door, opening her mind fully to what was going on within Obadiah Stane’s thoughts.</p><p>Faint words floated through the heavy wooden door, muffled enough that she wasn’t able to hear them clearly, but Pepper wasn’t interested in listening to the actual conversation.  What she wanted was the <em>intent</em> behind the words, and what thoughts were triggered by whatever was being said. </p><p>Pepper wasn’t the strongest knower; in fact, her parents had been disappointed when she hadn’t been a follower of Light, like so many of their clan, including her favorite cousin, Phil.  She fell within what was the midrange of her gifts, but that was fine.  It was usually enough to know what was required of her.  She never tried to pry, or go rooting through another person’s mind without permission, because that was just plain rude, but she also couldn’t shield herself from everything and would often pick of things it would have been best she not overhear. </p><p>But, today, in that beat…she suddenly felt absolutely no compunction at all at listening in on Lord Obadiah’s private thoughts.  Her instincts were telling her that it was important, that Lord Obadiah being there was the opening that was needed to advance his future events.  Oh, she certainly didn’t have the gift of prophecy, that rightly belonged to a devotee of Order, but she couldn’t ignore what her intuition was telling her.  It was telling her that she needed to be there, in that beat, and there she would be.</p><p>She had to shield a little from Tony’s emotions; despite empathy not being among her gifts, he’d always felt strongly despite the façade he used in public and she couldn’t help but feel them as well.  Pepper, however, understood it, and had plenty of practice in blocking out what her employer and friend was experiencing emotionally, although she did love the more intimate touch of his mind on hers.  In this case, it was a bit difficult since Lord Obadiah anymore brought out the worst in him, but she could tell that he was trying, knowing that she was just outside, ‘listening’ in. </p><p>It seemed as if he didn’t have a problem with her mental eavesdropping, either.</p><p>Lord Obadiah, though, was gloating both mentally and out loud.  She could feel his certainty that events would fall his way, that the future would be for himself and that the King would be a friend and benefactor.  Yes, Pepper had long known that the man was prone to ingratiating himself with King Charles; this was the first time ever that she could recall that he was absolutely certain of the King’s patronage, that sometime soon he would gain control of the Stark Lands for himself, and that keeping Tony in line was his goal.</p><p>Pepper was seething, yet she couldn’t let herself lose control.  If she did that, it might give away her mental presence, and she didn’t dare do that.  No, she had to remain there, and listen in, hoping to hear something that would explain why Lord Obadiah was so certain all of this was going to occur.</p><p>When it finally came to her, Pepper couldn’t help but gasp.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“Back that up,” Tony demanded.  “You’re telling me you got that from <em>Obie’s</em> thoughts?” He sounded completely incredulous; not at Pepper’s gifts, but that Lord Obadiah would have any sort of thoughts that didn’t have anything to do with being angry and hating people.</p><p>Pepper nodded, her pacing carrying her from one end of the main area of the kitchen to the other, keys jingling in concert with her movements.  She’d retreated there once she’d ‘overheard’ what Lord Obadiah was thinking, in shock more than in disbelief.  Edwin and Ana had simply let her pace it out, moving around her as they prepared the evening meal.   Brukk had made himself as small as possible – which was pretty small, given his obvious bulk – in one of the corners, his green-tinged eyes watching her every move, with worry in them.</p><p>Now, they were widened in shock, much like everyone else’s in the kitchen.  Only Tony had managed to speak, but then there wasn’t a lot that could happen that would knock him speechless.</p><p>Pepper’s announcement, as surprising as it was, hadn’t even managed to do it, even though it had taken him a couple of ticks before making his demand for more answers.</p><p>“I did,” she confirmed, stopping her pacing and turning to look at her friend.  “I can’t believe it myself.”</p><p>“So,” Edwin broke in delicately, his accent a little broader than usual, “it appears the true heir of Waverlyn survived the Massacre and is now being hunted by the current King…who just happens to be a usurper, responsible for said Massacre.”</p><p>“Yes.  I didn’t get much more than that.  Only that Lord Obadiah was thinking how things were going to change once the prince was discovered and the ritual complete.”</p><p>Tony snorted.  “That doesn’t sound <em>at all</em> ominous.”  He huffed out a long breath.  “And there was nothing else?”</p><p>“No.”  Pepper didn’t go into how distasteful the man’s thoughts had been; the sheer glee at the idea of finding this prince and…doing whatever King Charles was going to do.  <em>That</em> had been unclear, but she could guess it would be unpleasant.  She hadn’t stayed any longer, in order to hear anything else.  She was pretty sure it would have gotten much worse.</p><p>“You understand what this means,” Brukk stated quietly. </p><p>“Yeah,” Tony snarked, “we could all be looking at treason charges if it even gets out that we know about this.”</p><p>“Then we should go all the way,” Ana declared.  “We should see about finding the Crown Prince ourselves and saving him.”</p><p>Pepper blinked at her.  That…well, that hadn’t even crossed her mind.  A lot of other thoughts had, but not that one.  She’d really been wondering just how Prince Francis had managed to escape since he’d been almost a baby at the time.  And where he could have been hidden.  <em>And</em> how long he could escape the grasp of his bastard older half-brother. </p><p>“We all know that King Charles is slowly losing whatever grasp on reality he’s had for the last thirty turns,” Tony mused.  “Things are getting bad in Waverlyn.  Sooner or later, something is going to snap, and it’s going to turn this country into more of a disaster than it already is.” </p><p>Pepper was staring at him in surprise.  He put on this air of disinterest for everyone, and sometimes the Aalveyn had found even herself falling into the bad habit of only seeing the outer appearance despite how close she could be to his thoughts.  It was playing against her now, even though she usually knew better.  Tony might seem uncaring, but that was farthest from the truth.  He saw things, and heard things, and always helped out the tenants of his lands when they needed it.  He was much more attentive than his outer persona showed, and Pepper was ashamed of herself for not taking that into consideration.</p><p>“There’s a reason I left the Skell creche,” Brukk put in.  “I don’t like to talk about it, but things were getting far too intense there for me to stay.  There was talk about reigniting what they thought of as a holy war against the surface dwellers; not just the Aalveyn this time, but the Humans as well, because of the weakening of the Dark Mother.” He shrugged, his massive shoulders rising and falling.  “I’m not like the majority of my people.  I’m of Science, not Fire, so I don’t see war as the end-all, be-all, of our existence.  Well, there was also a woman, but that’s not germane to current events.”</p><p>Pepper had once gotten the name, Bet’ye, from his thoughts, but she’d never intruded.  Now, she understood what that meant.</p><p>“Things are happening all over Marvala,” Edwin added.  “You cannot help but hear about such in the marketplace.  Now, I have no idea how much of what I’ve been told is true, but if only a third of it is…then the world is becoming a much more dangerous place, and it can date back to the Massacre…if not longer.”</p><p>The thing was, so many of the normal populace had been fed the propaganda from the Royal Court about the events thirty turns ago, and they believed it.  They believed that King Charles had been a survivor of the Massacre, when it appeared he’d been the instigator of it all…if what she’d managed to get from Lord Obadiah’s thoughts was true.  When it had happened, Pepper had been in Waverlyn at the time, working in a library at the University; and of course, she’d heard second and third-hand stories of the devastation at the original Castle Waverlyn.  And, now, she was even <em>more</em> certain that Howard and Maria Stark had been murdered in a secret purge of those who knew the truth and wouldn’t have stood for Charles coming to the throne like he had, where before she’d only had Tony’s suppositions to go on.</p><p>But, if there was a true contender for the throne out in the world, hidden for so long…</p><p>“How are we going to find him, then?” she had to ask. </p><p>“Obie wants me to go back to court with him,” Tony replied.  “He’s pretty much said he’s going to hang around here until I comply.  And he knows me well enough to know that might be a long time.”</p><p>Pepper couldn’t help but smile.  Tony Stark could be one stubborn ass.  “It’s one of your most endearing characteristics,” she teased. </p><p>He gave her an insouciant grin in return. “See, I <em>knew</em> you thought I was endearing.”</p><p>“Of course I do,” she rolled her eyes.  There had been a couple of times she’d wondered what it would be like to fall in love with Tony, but he wasn’t the one for her.  They were compatible, yes, but Pepper wasn’t looking for that sort of relationship.  She was perfectly fine being on her own, and Tony had his own dalliances when he felt lonely. </p><p>“So,” Brukk brought them back on task, “you’re planning on going back to Waverlyn Castle with Lord Obadiah.”</p><p>“I thought I might, yes.  It would put me right in the middle of the action, so to speak.”</p><p>It made sense.  Being at Waverlyn Castle would put Tony into the thick of things, although Pepper was fairly certain anyone would be tight-lipped around Tony unless he proved his loyalty. </p><p>There was only one thing to do.   “I’m going with you.”</p><p>The Lord of Stark Tower looked grateful, but at the same time…  “Pep, no.  I can’t ask that of you.”</p><p>“You’re not asking.  I’m volunteering.”  She stepped toward him.  “You’re going to need me, Tony.  They’re not likely to admit much in front of you and, with my gifts, I can eavesdrop on people’s inner thoughts.”  She hated doing it, because she considered it unethical, but in this circumstance Pepper was willing.  If she was lucky, she wouldn’t even have to go that far, and could get what they needed from surface thoughts, like she had Lord Obadiah.</p><p>His expression was torn, but he finally nodded.  “You’re right.  I might put on a front of being a loyal citizen, but I’m not in the royal inner circle.  There’s no way they’d spill anything to me on purpose.”  He reached out and took her hands; he was one of the very few she allowed that intimacy, as it opened up his mind to her completely. </p><p>Pepper loved Tony’s mind, even if it made her a little dizzy.  His thoughts were like quicksilver, rushing from one subject to another with lightning quickness, it was so very hard to grab onto just one.  In the beginning, she’d been bombarded by his ideas and imaginings and everything that made up the genius mind of Tony Stark that it had knocked her unconscious, but now she knew how to deal with it, and it was familiar and almost soothing. </p><p>Today, though, his thoughts were wholly on the puzzle of this long-lost prince, and what they could do to help him. </p><p>“Once we find out about this prince,” he continued, “we’ll need a plan to get to him before those crazies in the royal court do.”</p><p>Pepper nodded, sensing his thoughts whirling away, discarding ideas as quickly as he came up with them.  She then felt him settle on a single idea, and she gave him a smile. </p><p>“Pepper and I will go with Obie,” Tony said, “and he’s going to love that.”  He gave her a winning smile, but she felt his upset at her having to deal with the man’s bigotry.  “Brukk, we’ll need you as well, but not to go with us.”</p><p>“What do you need me to do?” the Skell asked, his face determined.</p><p>“We’ll need to find you a place close by to stay,” the Lord of Stark Tower told him.  “We’ll need you close enough that Pepper can call you if needed, but not so close Obie notices you nearby.”</p><p>Brukk nodded.  “As long as I avoid the entrances to the Skell creche, I don’t mind staying in the foothills near the main road to the castle.”</p><p>Tony silently asked her if she could call to the Skell mentally at a distance, and she nodded, letting him know equally silently that it may be a strain if Brukk was too far away, but she would manage.  He was keeping his mind open to her, through their hands, and she knew it was for a reason.  She was also the only one Tony trusted to be this close, and she was unbearably touched by his faith in return. </p><p>“And what will I be waiting for?” Brukk’s voice was soft, so soft for someone as large as he was.</p><p>“Word as to where this prince might be, so you can get a head start on whatever troops Charles sends to fetch him.”</p><p>Brukk nodded.  “That makes sense.  And hopefully Prince Francis will trust me enough to get him to whatever safety there is.”</p><p>Pepper considered but Tony spoke up.  “I think Pep has that part of the plan.”</p><p>She gave him a side-eye, which was met with a smug smirk.  He urged her to speak her thoughts, so she did.</p><p>“We get him out of the country on board a ship.  My cousin’s ship, as a matter of fact.”  It would mean getting Phil involved, but she knew him well enough that asking him to help would be well received. </p><p>That suggestion earned her a round of nods from all concerned.  “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your cousin,” Brukk said.  “How would I know him?”</p><p>“He has a trading vessel called <em>Lola’s Dream</em>.  It’s named after his mother.  His name is Phil, full name Phillipjaraynan’coulson, and you can trust him implicitly.  I can implant an image of him in your mind, if you’d allow it, Brukk.”</p><p>“That should be fine,” he said, and she was honored by his trust in her.  Not a lot of people would want a knower to root around in their heads or put things in there.  “You’ll need to get a better picture of my mind anyway, if you’re going to try and contact me directly.”</p><p>He had a point.  The better she knew his thoughts, the easier it would be for her to find him when the time came.  She had the basic picture, but the better that picture was, the simpler it would be to call out to him. “We’ll do that in a bit.  And you’re right about it being easier to find a mind I’m familiar with.”  She would ask him later on if it would be alright for her to add a quiescent link as well, to make it even easier to contact him.</p><p>“But how shall we get word to Captain Phil?” Edwin asked.  </p><p>“I think that’s where I come in,” Ana put in, smiling slightly. </p><p>“Ana,” her husband exclaimed, upset.  Pepper could understand; Edwin was overprotective of his wife, after an accident that had led to her being so injured she was now unable to conceive.  Edwin had long thought it was his fault, and tended to hover at times.  For her to volunteer to be away from home, meant he couldn’t look out for her.</p><p>“Edwin.”  She laid a hand on his arm.  “I’m the fastest way to get word to Captain Phil about this.  Mistress Pepper can’t; even though she knows her cousin’s mind well, he’d be too far away for her to reach him directly.”</p><p>Ana was a self-shaper, and would be their best bet to locate Phil if he was out to sea.  Pepper knew he usually kept to the waters off Waverlyn and Asgard this time of year, if he wasn’t in port at Zephyr Cay at the moment. </p><p>“I can fly or swim to the ship,” Ana added.  “Just tell me the direction I need to search, and I will.  I will get word to him as quickly as I possibly can, and it would be far more private than sending a letter explaining the entire situation.”</p><p>“I don’t like this,” Edwin murmured, taking his wife’s hand, “but I understand it.  You will be careful, won’t you my darling?”</p><p>She smiled brightly up at him.  “Of course I will, Edwin.  And it isn’t like anyone is going to be looking at a sea bird in the midst of other sea birds, is it?”</p><p>Pepper was so very proud of her courage.  Ana was correct, in that no one would be looking for one more bird amidst a whole flock, and it wasn’t as if anyone knew of their plans.  Lord Obadiah was upstairs in his room; she could sense him fuming up there, irritated at Tony’s stubbornness.  She let Tony sense it as well, and his thoughts were pleased at being able to piss the man off. He really did love Lord Obadiah, but at the same time he couldn’t stand the man one little bit.</p><p>Besides, Tony took great pleasure in irritating people. </p><p>“I’ll let Rhodey know as well,” he went on, “because you know he’ll want to come along with, if just to protect me from my own excesses.”</p><p>Captain James Rhodes was of Fire, and Strife, a warrior of great acclaim.  He was also Tony’s oldest friend, and Tony was quite right in claiming that Rhodey would want to come.  He was also completely trustworthy.  They could confide in him what was going on, and he’d be all for it.   Plus, it made Pepper feel a bit safer having Rhodey along. </p><p>“We’ll have to wait a little while,” Pepper added.  “Tony, if you agree to go with Lord Obadiah so quickly after saying no, he might think something’s up.”</p><p>“True.  I might be mercurial, but I’m not <em>that</em> mercurial.”</p><p>She gave him a laughing smile.  “Tony, you really <em>are</em> that mercurial.”</p><p>His mental chuckle was at odds with the insouciant shrug.</p><p>“Then I should wait until after you all leave,” Ana said.  “It might seem a little odd if the standards dropped because the head housekeeper and cook was suddenly gone.  And, while I am quite certain you could cover for me, the less suspicious Lord Obadiah is, the better.  He might avoid the help, but you cannot tell me he wouldn’t notice something like his meals not on time or up to snuff.”</p><p>She could feel Tony’s certainty at their plan, his total belief in that they were doing the right thing.  Pepper felt buoyed by his optimism, and she squeezed his hands in agreement before letting them go.</p><p>The Aalveyn missed the touch immediately, but didn’t let it bother her. </p><p>“Edwin,” she said, “you’ll stay here and keep an eye on things while we’re gone.”</p><p>“I was rather hoping I could accompany you.”  He didn’t look at all happy at being left behind.</p><p>“I’m gonna put Happy at your disposal,” Tony told him.  Happy Hogan was the Steward of all the Stark Lands, a trusted retainer who had been working for the family for the last ten turns.  He could also be let in on the plan, the better to be prepared for anything that might happen if their plan succeeded… or failed spectacularly. </p><p>Because, if it did fail, Tony would forfeit his lands…and, Pepper was certain, his life, as well as all their lives.  And it would be up to Happy and Edwin to hold on as long as they could, to keep anyone coming to claim the tower and the lands in the name of the King. </p><p>It was a risk they were willing to take.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>It took Clint approximately two days to find his place within the crew of <em>Lola’s Dream</em>.</p><p>There were only ten crewmembers – including their Aalveyn captain – and that had seemed, at first, far too few to man a sailing vessel like this, at least in the archer’s opinion.  Yet they worked like a well-blessed piece of technology, their training allowing each of them to do more than just one job even if they hadn’t been born into the gifts that the job entailed.  Clint had been impressed by it all, throwing himself into the ebb and flow of work whenever he could, gaining respect and friendship from them all, as well as experiencing the same for the others.</p><p>One of Clint’s favorite duties was to climb the mainmast and be lookout in the crow’s nest, high above the deck.  Up until he’d volunteered, that job had gone to a hawk-nosed crewmember with a facial scar who simply went by the name Davis, and who was more than happy to give up the post to someone who enjoyed heights better than he did.  Davis was a minor Chaos Mage, and was one of the major tricksters on board, and who wasn’t above performing the silliest pranks ever, up to and including short-sheeting Clint’s bunk.  Phil had been the one to point out that it was Davis who was the best negotiator of the entire crew, and would always get them the best prices on the loads they would haul, which made his place onboard the <em>Dream</em> essential.</p><p>Davis and Piper, who was of Order and was one of the fighters onboard, were often sniping at each other, laughing insults hurled back and forth, and Clint had to ask if they were married.  Jemma, who’d been checking on his head injury at the time, had claimed no, that Davis had a wife and son on Zephyr Cay, and that it was just how the two interacted.  So, it was more of a sibling relationship than a married one, and it was obvious that they enjoyed poking fun at each other and they never took the insults personally.</p><p>Another of Clint’s favorite tasks was to climb the massive lines that ran up the masts, helping to clear the sails – or sheets, as Mack called them – when they needed to be furled.  He’d been impressed by the mechanical devices that made the job all that easier, and had discovered that Leo Fitz, the ship’s Engineer and Jemma’s best friend, had been the one to create them.  Leo had been pleased at Clint’s questions, and had launched into such a complicated explanation of how the pulleys and braces worked that the hunter had found himself lost within ticks.  It didn’t matter, really, because Clint got the impression that Leo didn’t get to talk about his creations to many people, so he’d been happy to let the engineer prattle on.  It had gained him a bright smile from Jemma, and a clap on the shoulder from Mack that had sent Clint stumbling forward a couple of steps at the strength behind it. </p><p>It hadn’t even been a day at sea before Clint had found himself invited to the ship’s card game, run by Lance Hunter, the mage, and consisted of Mack, Trip, Melinda, Davis, and Piper.  All six of them cheated outrageously – except for Davis, but then luck was always going to be on his side – and the hunter had had the time of his life. </p><p>And so, he’d found himself accepted easily within the ship’s compliment, and he couldn’t have been happier that they’d come along and saved his life, even if they’d been sent by some shadow man on Zephyr Cay to find him in the first place.</p><p>Still, he didn’t think there was anyone who worked harder on the ship than her captain.</p><p>He’d noticed that Phil was the first one up in the morning, and the last one to go to his bunk at night, not counting Mack who kept the overnight watch.  He genuinely cared for those under his command, pitching in where needed and encouraging when it was something he couldn’t do himself.  The crew cared for him as much, if not more, getting him to eat when he forgot to and then him returning the favor when duties kept various members of the crew from getting their own meals.  It was like watching a family moving around its members in an intricate dance, and it made Clint ache a little, knowing that he’d never experiences anything like it himself.</p><p>Although there was this close bond between the crew and their captain, Clint noticed that Phil seemed to keep himself aloof from the others, as if he’d taken a step back out of the relationships that had popped up all over the ship.  Oh, that wasn’t to say he wasn’t a friend to them all and, in fact, Daisy had once called him their ships’ Dad.  But there was that little, inexplicable, distance between the Aalveyn and the others.</p><p>There was one small exception to that, and that was Daisy.  Phil seemed to dote on her, and the <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn Druid often rolled her eyes at it, but the hunter could tell that she cared as much for the captain as he cared for her.  That, right there, was more of the father-daughter relationship that Daisy accused Phil of having for the rest of the crew. </p><p>Phillipjaraynan’coulson was one of the most intriguing people the archer had ever met.  He was unassuming, and yet could command easily, running his vessel with few words.  He allowed his people to do their jobs, and to listen to what they had to say based on their gifts and their knowledge, but every single person on the crew followed his orders even if they might not have agreed with them, as long as they understood that the captain wasn’t dismissing them out of hand.  The only one he’d ever seen argue with the Aalveyn had been the Mack, the Second Mate, and that hadn’t been an argument really, more of a slight disagreement based on something the seaman had seen in the patterns of the ocean.  They’d settled it when Phil had calmly pointed out something in the weather patterns, and they’d adapted their actions to suit both points of view.  It had been fascinating to watch, and Clint had found himself agreeing with them even as he admitted that he knew very little about either subject. </p><p>Oh, he could see when it was going to storm, to feel the breeze and understand that it was going to rain or stay dry, but that was about it.  He relied on those with far more knowledge than he had to know more, and he wasn’t at all embarrassed by his complete lack of knowing a thing about certain subjects.  He had no ego to bruise in that department.</p><p>Now, if someone questioned his vision or his aim…well, then they would have words.</p><p>No one had, but then Clint had deliberately downplayed his gifts.  He’d learned not to bring so much attention to himself over the turns, and on the whole he’d kept that up…but then, there was that whole deathstrike thing that had pretty much blown any sort of deniability he’d had.  To his surprise, many of the crew were quite powerful in their own gifts, but the most powerful of them all – outside the Captain – was Daisy. </p><p>“Oh, Phil found me,” she told him, when Clint had asked how a druid had come to be onboard a ship at sea when they were usually a landbound caste.  “In fact, I tried to pick his pocket, and then ended up stowing away when I was just a kid. I’d been hoping to find a way out of Achanri, and then maybe get to Aal’valla because I was convinced I could somehow find my Aalveyn parent.  Since the <em>Dream </em>had an Aalveyn captain, I thought…well, I was wrong, but then I was pretty young and stupid at the time.”</p><p>Clint laughed at that.  Daisy didn’t strike him as someone who’d ever been stupid.  She was smart as a whip, and knew her stuff.</p><p>“He encouraged me to study and even managed to get me into one of the Druid’s groves in Wakanda.  Don’t ask me how; all I know is that King T’Chaka owed him a favor, and I’m certain he called that in for me.  But I studied there and, when I was done, the <em>Dream</em> was waiting for me.”</p><p>Just what sort of pull had Phil had to get Daisy into a study grove in Wakanda?  It would have been highly unusual for someone not of Wakanda to be invited into one of their enclaves like that.  That must have been some favor.</p><p>“Phil even once offered me his Clan name.”  The tips of her ears turned red in pleased embarrassment.  “I turned him down, because I’ve never been full Aalveyn in my life, and I don’t agree with those assholes one bit.  Nothing against the captain, but the Aalveyn wouldn’t accept me because I’m not pure blood, and I didn’t want Phil to be dragged down by me.  Besides, how would he actually have the power to do that sort of thing?”</p><p>“I doubt he would have felt that way, and he would have tried to find a way around that.”  It just confirmed what Clint had observed, that Phil obviously felt a parental sort of pride toward the young <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn, and that it was reciprocated by her, as a daughter toward a father. </p><p>It was wonderful to see.  Especially since Phil didn’t seem to be as close to the rest of the crew.  It was good to know that he had someone to care about.</p><p>Clint found himself wanting to have some form of closeness with the Aalveyn.  He couldn’t explain it.  He’d only known Phil for such a short time, and yet there was something that drew him to the Aalveyn.  Perhaps it was the secrets he carried with him that called to Clint; maybe it was because he was handsome and smart and had a dry sense of humor that would often have his crew rolling their eyes at him fondly.  The archer found himself chatting with him at odd times, and Phil would tell stories of his travels, but nothing overly personal.  He was holding himself back from forming a true connection, and that was intriguing as well.  Clint didn’t understand it, and he wanted to.</p><p>And then, five days out of Morgantown, everything changed.</p><p>Clint was high up in the ropes, helping Lance untangle a couple of lines that had gotten wrapped around one of the interesting looking pulleys that Leo had invented.  It wasn’t difficult work, and from what Lance’s bitching was telling him, it did happen every once in a while, and it usually did require two pairs of hands to fix it.  Leo had been working on the problem, but hadn’t come up with anything yet to fix it.  He might not have known the young engineer long, but Clint just knew Leo would come up with something eventually. </p><p>They were just coming back down from the lines when Clint caught sight of Phil, standing in the prow, head up and facing into the rather stiff wind that had been blowing in since that morning, his aura flaring around him and his hidden wings flexing out from his body, as if to catch the breeze.</p><p>“Oh, bollocks,” Lance muttered, just loud enough for Clint to hear.</p><p>“What?” he asked as they continued down toward the deck.</p><p>“We only see that sort of pose when there’s shitty weather coming up.”</p><p>Boots hitting the wood, both Clint and the mage were making their way toward the wheelhouse, where both Melinda and Mack were standing with Trip.  The rest of the crew were gathered on deck, waiting.</p><p>A couple of ticks later, Phil was striding toward the crew, determination on his features.  “Get the sails secured,” he ordered, sending the crew – and Clint – scrambling.  “Batten down anything that isn’t already tied down.”</p><p>“How soon?” Melinda called out.</p><p>“Three marks.  Coming up from the southeast.  The stormfront is at least a league wide.”</p><p>It was a busy three marks and, as they worked to secure the ship, black and grey clouds began blowing up, lightning dancing between sea and sky as the storm approached.  Clint watched it with an awed dread, he couldn’t help it.  He’d been in such storms on land, but never at sea.  The rest of the crew seemed quite cheerful, all things considered, calling to each other and making bets on various aspects of the oncoming storm.  That nonchalance allowed the hunter to relax a little; they knew what they were doing and, if they weren’t acting like they were bothered, then Clint could do the same. </p><p>The ship was prepared a good mark before the stormfront hit.  Mack passed thick coats of waxed wool around to the crew after they were done with their tasks, the better to repel the rains that were quickly approaching.  Clint shrugged his on and immediately began sweating under the heavy material, but he knew he’d be glad of it once the lashing wind and rain hit.</p><p>Phil, however, didn’t bother to don one.  Instead, he ducked belowdecks, coming back up with a bundled coil of rope with a harness attached.  “The ship is yours,” he called up to Melinda.</p><p>“Aye, Captain,” she responded, her voice sharp.  And yet there was an undertone of trust and fondness to it, and it made Clint glance up toward the wheelhouse, where the first mate was taking up position. </p><p>She and Trip were connecting their own harnesses to the pedestal of the wheel, to hold them in place, her face just as inscrutable as always.  Only her eyes betrayed her pride and affection for her Aalveyn captain.</p><p>Clint turned back to watch Phil.  He was heading back to the prow, where he proceeded to hook up his own harness to the small mast there, facing directly into the storm.  The hunter’s heart began pounding as he realized what the Aalveyn was doing.</p><p>He was going control the storm.</p><p>Clint had realized on first sight of the Aalveyn that he was a weatherwitch.  All ships had them, for just such an eventuality.  But, it was different knowing that fact, and seeing it in action like this.  And it was Phil doing the facing down the storm.  Something vague he couldn’t put a finger on bothered him about that.</p><p>The rest of the crew didn’t seem worried, however.  As a matter of fact, they were all putting on their own harnesses, tying themselves to various places on the deck, preparing for whatever was to come.</p><p>Clint took the one handed to him by Daisy, whose dark eyes were dancing with excitement.  “Just wait until you see the master at work.”  She sounded so very proud.</p><p>He followed her to a place near the main mast, doing exactly what she did, letting her examine his knotting to make certain it was secure.  Worried, he sent Lucky below, and the dog went, scurrying away as if knowing the deck wasn’t going to be the place for him pretty soon.</p><p>Smart dog.  Clint was beginning to wonder if he was showing the most sense of anyone onboard.</p><p>And then, they waited.</p><p>And the storm struck.</p><p>It had barely settled around them when Phil was confidently calming the storm, using his gifts, lips moving in a song that was inaudible over the din of the waves and wind.  Within ticks, the ship had stopped rocking on the waves, the Aalveyn’s hands moving as if directing an invisible symphony, the wind and lightning moving away from them, leaving the <em>Dream </em>in the calm left behind.  He hadn’t had to disperse the storm, only to send it away just from the ship itself, which was a sign of true power if Clint had ever seen one.  That sort of delicacy of touch had to be something special indeed.  The times he’d seen weatherwitches work, it had taken force to get rid of whatever bad weather was threatening, although that had been on land.  Not that he believed that would have made much difference, not with this particular follower of Light.</p><p>Clint had known that the Aalveyn was a Tal’endi, and a follower of the God of Light and Air, and he’d also known he was a weatherwitch as well.  However, he hadn’t realized just how <em>powerful</em> Phil was, not until that point.  He should have really guessed it, though, from seeing that Maelstrom Harp hanging from the wall of the man’s cabin.  Only the most powerful of weatherwitches could touch one, let alone play it; that was a different thing altogether and took a true Maelstrom Harper to do.  And Clint was pretty certain that the captain could play it very well indeed, even though he hadn’t actually seen or heard the Aalveyn do it as yet.  He hoped he got the chance one day, although the last thing any rational being wanted was to be stuck in the middle of the most powerful sort of storm on Marvala. </p><p>And it was at that point that he realized that he was seriously attracted, because Phil controlling the storm had been seriously sexy.</p><p>That was proving to be a revelation.</p><p>Clint was one of those who was attracted to both sexes.  He’d had encounters with both, enjoyed them immensely, although they’d never led to anything permanent.  So, to have that sort of attraction seemingly hit out of nowhere…no, it wasn’t out of nowhere, really.  Clint had had a sort of fascination with the Aalveyn, from the moment he’d seen him standing on the docks at Morgantown, a naked sword resting across his shoulders and all Light and hidden wings and confidence.  Now, he realized it was growing into something a little more than fascination, even though he wasn’t quite sure what it was, as yet.</p><p>Soon, the clouds above them were parting, and sunlight was streaming through in patches, while the worst of the storm still spun about <em>Lola’s Dream</em>, lightning and thunder nearly deafening over the pounding rain and strong winds.</p><p>It was incredible.</p><p>“See?” Daisy crowed, wiping her sodden hair away from her eyes.  “Isn’t he amazing?”  She sounded so very delighted, and Clint thought she had every right to be.</p><p>He couldn’t tear his eyes away.  The halo of power around the Aalveyn was dazzling, moreso than the lightning that still arched across the sky beyond the weatherwitch-created eye in the middle of the storm, the ancient song of the storm now heard in snatches over the swirling storm that surrounded them.  Phil’s aura was so very strong, like the blue of the sky peeking out from the clouds above, and his wings were extended across the <em>Dream</em>’s prow as if he was some sort of living figurehead, protecting the ship and the crew from harm.  Clint understood that none of the rest of the people onboard could see what he could, and he felt a little sorry for them because, while they were as impressed as Clint was at Phil’s gifts, they couldn’t see the <em>extent</em> of the man’s power. </p><p>It was no wonder he was feeling such naked <em>want</em>.  This sort of competence and prowess was Deities’ damned sexy, and he’d always been taken with such displays.</p><p>Not that he’d ever act on it.  There was no reason for Phil to feel the same way.  And he wasn’t about to cause a problem when they were this far out to sea, because messing with the captain would have most likely cause the crew to dump his sorry ass overboard. </p><p>The storm lasted well into the night.  All that time, Phil stood there, keeping the weather at bay, the rest of the crew waiting quietly as they stayed lashed to the ship just in case something bad would happen.  Clint’s tether let him sit on the deck, Daisy beside him, and they stayed silent, not needing to talk about what was happening around them, just listening to the song of Phil’s gifts.  It was a comfortable silence between them, letting the hunter think about the display at the prow of the ship. </p><p>That man truly was blessed by Light, to have such power.  And his voice was smooth, snatches of liquid syllables of an unknown language teasing their ears, rising and falling as the power demanded.</p><p>It was beautiful.  Clint couldn’t help but be held in thrall by it.</p><p>Daisy finally said, “The first time I saw this, I couldn’t believe it.  I mean, you hear stories about weatherwitches and what they can do, but this…it just seemed impossible.”  Her voice was hushed, as if she thought she could break the spell surrounding them, which made it a little hard to hear over the storm that still raged around them.</p><p>“Yeah, I get it, and I’ve <em>seen</em> weatherwitches before.  They weren’t anything like this.”  Most would have been tired by now, but Phil was still standing there, like his using his gifts for such a prolonged period wasn’t exhausting him.  The song was different as well; Clint couldn’t recall hearing the other weatherwitches singing the storm down before.  It had been mostly brute power over nature, and he wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that the man was also a Maelstrom Harper.  “I’ve never seen another weatherwitch actually <em>sing</em> a storm down, either.”</p><p>“He’s the only one that I’m aware of, and I’ve met more than a few weatherwitches in my time.”  That would have been a fair amount, since Clint was pretty sure she’d been at sea for a while now.  “Not even Lincoln does it like that –”</p><p>“Lincoln?”</p><p>“Oh, he’s a friend of mine.  He’s also Phil’s unofficial Acolyte…cause, you know he can’t really have one unless he’s at least a Priest, and he’s not one of those.   But he started teaching Lincoln about his gifts quite a few turns ago, when the Campbells came to Zephyr Cay.  Lincoln’s not nearly as powerful, but he’s no slouch.”</p><p>They were quiet for a bit, just watching as Phil stood, tall and proud, and bent a storm to his will.  Then, Daisy spoke again, and if they hadn’t been in the quiet eye that the Tal’endi created, Clint wouldn’t have heard her.  “I wish I could help, but that’s not my gift.”</p><p>“Honestly, Daisy…I’ve never seen anyone as powerful.  I don’t think he needs any sort of help.”</p><p>She nodded, but didn’t say anything.  Still, Clint understood how she felt, because he was beginning to feel the same way. </p><p>Well, he supposed it wouldn’t matter when they reached Zephyr Cay, and to whatever job this Nick Fury person had in mind for him. But that wouldn’t change the gratitude he would always feel for the man who was directing the weather with what seemed like effortless grace, and the rest of the crew of this ship. </p><p>But really, Phillipjaraynan’coulson would be the one who remained in his memory for a long time to come, of that he was certain.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>They’d let him rest up for a day, but then Melinda was at his cabin door, Jemma hovering just behind her, to check on him the next afternoon.</p><p>“Just to make sure you hadn’t died in your sleep,” his taciturn first mate commented as the two of them entered.</p><p>He rolled his eyes at her.</p><p>Phil wasn’t even in bed; he’d taken a chair by the window, reading one of his books in peace, the demolished remains of the plate of food Daisy had brought him a couple of marks ago sitting on the desk beside him.  When he controlled a storm like that, it wasn’t a physical exhaustion that plagued him; it was more of a mental tiredness, usually accompanied by a slight headache, that would always have him seeking privacy in order to full recover.  He just needed the quiet, and the peace of being alone, and his people always gave him that when he needed it.</p><p>At one point, Lucky had come snuffling at the door, and Phil had let the dog in.  He knew it was Clint’s way of making certain he was doing okay, and the Aalveyn allowed it, especially since Lucky was a good dog and wouldn’t stress him out with talking.  No, the dog had sprawled out on the bed and had promptly fallen asleep, and Phil had left him to it.  In fact, he was still there, and not even the arrival of Melinda and Jemma seemed to have disturbed him.</p><p>He was going to have to talk to Clint about the dog’s snoring, though.  Honestly, Phil hadn’t heard that sort of noise from <em>anyone</em> before. </p><p>Goose had, also, come into the cabin as well, and was curled up next to Lucky.  The Flerken, though, moved at the appearance of guests, his head up and grey eyes watching the two women as they entered.  He let out a little ‘mrpp’ of greeting, then flopped back down, curling up next to the dog’s side, seemingly content with the state of affairs.</p><p>“I’m fine.”  His voice cracked a little, but that was to be expected after singing for a long time.</p><p>He slipped the piece of silk he used as a bookmark into place then set his book aside, knowing that Jemma would want to check and make certain.  Truth be told, Phil hardly ever suffered any of the exhaustion that other weatherwitches did when using their gifts; it was a sign of just how powerful he was.  </p><p>Still, he wasn’t about to decline Jemma’s request of a scan, so he let her rest her hand on his forehead and get on with it, while Melinda supervised.  Phil could feel the tingle of her gifts through the contact as she checked for herself that he hadn’t been affected by his controlling the storm yesterday.  Not that he ever did, but it reassured Jemma and the rest of the crew that he was perfectly fine.</p><p>They cared.  Phil wasn’t about to deny them that, even if he kept his own bit of distance, to avoid from getting attached.  He didn’t want to risk the pain of losing them when it was time.</p><p>“Everything is normal,” she reported, removing her hand and stepping back.  “There is the residual headache and scratchy throat, but that’s what usually happens when you control a storm for so long.”  She gave him a sunny smile.  “So, you’ll be up to joining us for the party.”</p><p>Phil couldn’t help but laugh, even though it sounded a little rough.  Of <em>course</em> his crew had planned a party; they usually did as a way to relax after something that affected them all. “And when haven’t I ever?”</p><p>“Point,” Melinda allowed.  She would have looked her usual calm self to anyone else, but Phil could tell she was relieved that he was alright.  They worried about him, when they didn’t really need to.  He was always fine.</p><p>“I’ll be up in a little bit. I want to change.”  He’d put on his most comfortable clothes when he’d retired, needing to get out of his wet shirt and trousers and get the salt water out of his hair.  He’d put on what he usually wore to bed: cotton pants and shirt, a little baggy, but not at all good for polite company. </p><p>“We’re having music,” Melinda said pointedly as she and Jemma vacated the cabin.</p><p>Which was her way of telling him to bring the Harp.</p><p>Phil was fine with that. </p><p>He stood up, going to his wardrobe in order to pick out something to wear.  If he was going to be playing, then he went with a loose white blouse that buttoned tightly to his wrists, to keep his fingers clear.  Dark blue trousers went with it, and because he was feeling like it, he went barefoot.  He didn’t do it often, but the rest of the crew would be, since a lot of them would be dancing if there was music, so why not?</p><p>Then he went to fetch the Maelstrom Harp.</p><p>He could still remember the first time he’d seen in, back in his ancestral home, hidden away in the family vault with the rest of the treasures of his clan.  It hadn’t looked like an ancient, powerful artifact, and yet in that moment it had <em>called</em> to him, in a way he could never describe, and he’d gone to it as it asked him to and had taken it out of the cabinet it had been stored in, and had run his fingers over the metal strings, driven by something primordial within himself, the blessing in his blood.</p><p>Of course, he’d taken it with him when he’d left.  There hadn’t been any real choice in the matter.</p><p>The moment he touched the Harp’s polished red wood, it sang to him, a part of his very soul.  Its power thrummed under his fingers, as if the Maelstrom Harp was a living creature despite it having been created by mortal hands.  The strength of its magic was so very great, there wasn’t anyone that Phil knew of that could hold it, let alone put a finger to those fine strings.</p><p>It was his oldest companion.  Phil would never go anywhere without it.</p><p>Tucking the Harp under an arm, he roused both Lucky and Goose and then headed up onto the deck, where the rest of the crew was already waiting.  The sails had been furled, and there wouldn’t be any more traveling until the morning, when they would get back on course for Zephyr Cay.</p><p>Mack had brought a table out from the hold, and piled onto it were meats and cheeses, and pitchers of drinks.  Fluffy rolls shared space with small cakes; Phil’s second mate must have been busy in the galley today, preparing everything for the celebration, the affirmation that they’d come through the storm just fine.</p><p>They always would be unaffected from storms, if Phil had any say about it.</p><p>Someone had also set up a small area for the musicians, a large coil of rope and a couple of stools in place.  Davis was already there, curled up on the rope, his small drum between his knees, exchanging teasing insults with Piper.  Those two never stopped, and gave a good impression of hating each other, but that was far from true.  They’d been friends for turns, and Piper had stood up as guardian for Davis’ son. </p><p>Mack’s guitar was leaning against another of the stools, leaving the second stool for Phil.  At least he wouldn’t be called on to sing; the entire crew knew he wouldn’t be up to that quite yet.</p><p>He settled onto the stool, and let the others come and check on him.  They were mother hens, the lot of them, and Phil felt a warmth in his chest at their concern.  He might have tried to distance himself from them, but that didn’t stop them from getting close to <em>him</em>. </p><p>“Hey, Phil.”</p><p>He glanced up, smiling as he saw Clint standing there.  Lucky must have found his companion, because the dog stood beside the hunter, wagging his tail.  To Phil’s surprise, Goose had somehow managed to drape himself over Clint’s shoulders, looking quite satisfied with himself from his newest perch.  </p><p>“Clint,” he greeted their passenger warmly. </p><p>Those blue-green eyes widened a little.  “Your voice sounds like shit.”</p><p>The Aalveyn couldn’t help but laugh. “It does that, after I sing down a storm.”</p><p>“I can imagine.”  He smiled.  Something in Phil’s chest thumped oddly at that sweet expression.  “I just wanted to say thanks.  What you did with your gifts was <em>amazing</em>.”</p><p>“No need to thank me for anything.”  He waved off the gratitude.  “It’s part of my job as Captain to look after my ship and her crew…and her rather unwitting passengers.”</p><p>“Still, that was pretty damned impressive.  I’ve never seen a weatherwitch with your level of control.”</p><p>“It’s something I’ve worked very hard to develop.”  He wasn’t going to say just what went into his training; he didn’t want to burden Clint with that sort of information. </p><p>“I can believe it.”  Then he changed the subject.  “I was telling Daisy that I’d hoped to see you play the Harp one day, but I don’t think this is what I had in mind.”</p><p>“I love to play,” Phil confessed.  “The Harp makes the best music.”</p><p>“Then I can’t wait to hear it.”  With that, the Hunter turned and headed toward the food table, taking dog and Flerken with him.</p><p>“He’s a good man.”</p><p>Phil turned in the direction of Daisy’s voice.  “Yes, he is.”</p><p>The <em>halva</em>’Aalveyn Druid was smiling.  “He’d make a great addition to the crew.”</p><p>He had to admit, she was right about that.  Clint had been more than happy to chip in with the duties, doing whatever was asked of him.  And Davis loved the idea that he didn’t have to spend so much time up in the crows’ nest and could share that particular job with someone else.  “That’s going to depend on what Nick wants him for.”</p><p>Daisy made a face.  “Yeah, I know.  Hopefully, it’ll be something simple.  Then maybe you can offer him a permanent berth if he wants it.”</p><p>“I’ll consider it.”</p><p>“That’s all I ask.”  She leaned over and smacked a kiss against his forehead.  “Play pretty!” she wished, then flounced off to join Clint and his entourage.  Lucky, delighted to see her, gamboled about her feet, barking.  Daisy knelt down and let the dog slobber all over her face, laughing at whatever it was the animal was telling her. </p><p>Anyone else he would have told off for that sort of familiarity, but this was Daisy.  She was always bending the rules to suit herself.</p><p>A couple of ticks later, Mack joined him and Davis on their makeshift stage, picking up his guitar and resting it on his knee.  “How about ‘The Tavern Maid and the Pirate’ first?”</p><p>“Sounds good to me,” Davis replied, starting the quick beat of the familiar drinking song, Mack’s guitar joining him, taking up singing duties for the time being.  His second mate had a rich voice, and Phil liked hearing it.</p><p>Phil put his Harp on his lap, fingers plucking the strings, keeping up with the rollicking music.</p><p>The Maelstrom Harp thrummed under his hands, power coiled within and waiting for his call.  He told it to rest, to calm, holding its magic in check as he played with near abandon, swaying to the refrain as the crew paired off to dance. </p><p>Jemma pulled Trip out onto the cleared section of deck, her feet a little uncoordinated next to Trip’s nimble steps.  What the healer lacked in grace, she made up for in enthusiasm, making the pilot laugh as she accidentally stepped on one of his feet.  As they were both barefoot, that misstep did no damage.</p><p>Lance, not to be outdone, chivvied Piper out to dance as well.  Both were pretty well suited to each other; Piper was of Order, and a fighter, so she could move quickly and surely.  Lance, not so well as her, but the mage knew the steps of the song well enough to keep up. </p><p>Clint stood next to the table, grinning, a mug of something that was most likely alcoholic in his hand, his foot tapping along to the music.  Lucky was up and practically bouncing in place, tail wagging so hard his butt was wriggling; Daisy, laughing, urged the animal to follow her away from the mercenary, and he jumped around her as she laughed.  Perhaps they should get a dog for the ship? Phil knew Daisy would love that, but then he’d told Leo he couldn’t keep the monkey, so…</p><p>Melinda didn’t dance, and neither did Leo.  Melinda hardly ever did, unless it was a special occasion, and Leo was just waiting for someone in order to take his turn.  Phil knew that Mack would take a break at some point and dance with the young man; Mack was particularly fond of Leo, and the feeling was mutual.  There had been a time when everyone had believed that Jemma and Leo would get together, but they were more siblings than marriage material, and Mack had taken the opportunity to make a move.  They weren’t at the stage of being lovers yet, but Phil thought it was only a matter of time.</p><p>They finished up that song, then rolled into ‘Whiskey in the Jar’, another drinking song. This time, Jemma left Trip and tugged Clint into the dance, dislodging Goose, the mercenary attempting to decline but the healer not taking no for an answer.  He finally gave up, letting her set the tempo of their dancing, while Trip switched with Piper to dance with Lance.  Piper literally grabbed Leo by the waist, and the engineer went willingly.  Leo had once been shy about that sort of thing, but he knew these people, and they didn’t judge him for not being able to dance as well as some of them did.</p><p>Phil was enjoying seeing his crew so happy.  He did care for them in his own way, and wanted the best for them.  This was their way of celebrating after the storm, and he encouraged it, knowing that they needed to let themselves relax after what had occurred yesterday.  They trusted their captain with their lives, but there was still that edge of adrenaline that needed to be burned off, and this way was the best way for them to do so.</p><p> The Aalveyn chose the next song, and that was ‘The Highwayman’, a little slower but a more intricate piece.  Mack, grinning and understanding just what Phil was up to, set his guitar aside and went to ask Leo to dance.  Yes, Phil had deliberately picked that one because the second mate wasn’t that familiar with it, and wouldn’t be playing. </p><p>Davis laughed, picking up the beat easily, this time doing the singing.  He winked at Phil knowingly.  Havens, they were all hopeless romantics onboard the <em>Dream.</em>  And, just because Phil wasn’t looking for anyone, it didn’t mean the members of his crew couldn’t be happy.</p><p>Jemma stepped out of the dance, clapping delightedly as her best friend accepted the offered dance.  She made her way toward Phil, standing next to him.  She leaned over and whispered a, “Thank you,” in his ear, then ambled toward the food table, where she helped herself to something to drink.</p><p>After ‘The Highwayman’, Davis chose a fast-paced song without lyrics called ‘The Pictland Reel’ that had the crew pairing off again.  Mack came back and began to play once more, and Phil let his fingers dance across the strings, pleasure at the music and being able to play settling into his soul.  He loved this, his ability with music, one of his gifts from Light.  Music was one of Light’s blessings, but that didn’t mean just followers of the Deity could play an instrument.  Both Mack and Davis were proficient with their own, and Phil felt an honor to be playing with them.  It soothed something within him, and he admitted to himself that these musical interludes were just what he needed as well, especially after a storm.  They were a balm to him, and to prove that, once again, he’d used his gifts to save his crew from the vagaries of the weather.  This was what he did best, protecting those around him from any sort of danger that might be tossed their way.</p><p>Although Melinda would claim his best work was being Nick’s so-called spymaster.  That would have been up to debate, as far as he was concerned.</p><p>Daisy chose Clint to dance with for the reel.  Their feet flew through the bright moves, both of them laughing as they seemed to mesh well.  So well, in fact, that the others took a step back and just watched the show.</p><p>Phil couldn’t help but smile at them, although there was a little bit of him that…well, he couldn’t say.  He wasn’t sure he understood.  He dipped his head over his Harp, the smile still on his face, watching as his fingers plucked the strings expertly. </p><p>For the next song, the Aalveyn took a little break, setting the Harp down on the deck next to the stool, knowing that no one would touch it.  He needed something to drink, so he took his turn at the food table, picking up a mug and checking into the pitchers.  One was of just plain water, one was of lemonade, and while another was a very strong honey mead that Leo had made with the miniature distillery he’d set up in a small room off the cargo hold.  He should have been against that sort of thing, but Phil couldn’t bring himself to say anything.</p><p>Besides, the mead was really very good, and was just what he needed after playing three fast-paced songs.</p><p>“I like seeing them like this,” Melinda said at his shoulder.</p><p>“So do I.”  He took another sip of the mead.  It was sweet, but not too sweet, and it was cooling going down.  If he didn’t know better Phil would have sworn there wasn’t any alcohol in it at all.</p><p>He did know better, though.  Not tasting the alcohol meant this batch was particularly potent. </p><p>“What are our plans after we drop Barton off to Nick?”</p><p>Phil didn’t know.  “I suppose that depends on what Nick has planned.  But we might want to think about heading up to Brittanium before they decide to completely close their borders.  We could pick up a load of cargo and I can check in with my contact in Londron.”  It would be good to know exactly when to anticipate that the Brittanium Parliament meant to put into practice this newest law. </p><p>While Phil ostensibly did Nick’s work and made contacts from most of the countries of Marvala, he was, first and foremost, the captain of a trading vessel.  They had to make money even when they were indulging Nick’s whims, after all. </p><p>“That makes sense,” Melinda said.  “We could also plan a stopover at Asgard on the way back.  They still haven’t made it impossible to trade there.”</p><p>This was true, even though that country was having its own problems at the tick.  And they could bring back some of the more exotic items that Asgard traded with the rest of the world.  “We’d need to make sure to collect a few things to trade there as well…”</p><p>As they talked, his eyes followed Clint as he danced with Daisy, then did a quick switch and ended up with Leo, while Daisy laughed and danced with Trip.  Leo looked a little shocked at the maneuver, but he quickly got into the dance, following the mercenary’s lead.  Clint was flushed from the exertion, eyes twinkling as he swung Leo around then back into his arms, the engineer making a little squeaking noise that was just audible over the music.</p><p>“You’re paying a lot of attention to him,” Melinda observed, changing the subject.</p><p>“Hm?” Phil blinked at that.  “Yes.  Daisy suggested I give thought to asking Clint to join the crew.  He does fit in well here.”</p><p>“He does. And the others like him.  He’s a hard worker and willing to do whatever he’s asked to do.”</p><p>“What do you think?” Phil had always trusted Melinda’s instincts, and wouldn’t have thought of bringing on a new person without her input.</p><p>“I think he <em>would</em> be a good fit, and we could always use an archer in a fight.  But we can’t do that without knowing what Nick wants with him.”</p><p>Phil nodded.  “That’s what I told Daisy, too.  I think she has her heart set on it, however.”</p><p>Melinda snorted.  “<em>I</em> think she just doesn’t want to lose Lucky.”</p><p>The Aalveyn didn’t say anything to that, because he was pretty sure his first mate knew he’d thought the same thing. </p><p>He drained his mug.  “Well, back to playing for my supper,” he joked.  “Because we all know that’s all I’m good for around here.”</p><p>“Exactly.  You’re not good for anything else.”  There was a layer of warmth under her teasing words. </p><p>He saluted her with his empty mug, setting it back onto the table, then headed back to his place in the impromptu trio, planning on enjoying the rest of the day in utilizing his skills in order to make people happy.</p><p>And, if there was a part of him thinking that Clint looked quite handsome when he was happy, he was keeping that to himself.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Clint had been a little surprised that the crew had wanted to throw a party, but he could hardly blame them.  Not after yesterday.</p><p>He stood at the snacks table, a little out of breath from the dance he’d just finished with Daisy – she was really light on her feet, and light on his feet as well – drinking something that was smooth and a little sweet and went down easily.  The hunter hadn’t really expected them to include him all that much, despite the fact that he’d thought they’d all become friends in just the short time he’d been onboard, but that hadn’t been the case.  Clint didn’t think of himself as that great a dancer, relying more on his natural agility than any sort of talent, but he’d easily held his own.</p><p>It hadn’t hurt that pretty much everyone dancing had been doing it barefoot.  Although Clint wasn’t all that sure the damage would have been less if they’d all worn shoes instead.</p><p>However, of all the revelations he’d found during the marks spent in merriment, the biggest surprise had been Phil.</p><p>He’d fully expected the man to be good at music.  If he used song to control the weather, then it made sense that he would excel at it when not using his gifts.  It probably didn’t hurt that he was of Light, and that Deity was also the patron of music, but both Davis and Mack were able to keep up with him handily, using their own instruments and taking turns singing.  And they seemed to be very familiar with the way each played, but that wasn’t a surprise.  This crew was very much like a family, and that had been obvious almost from the beginning.</p><p>But, when he wasn’t being coerced into dancing with nearly everyone on the crew, he really only had eyes for Phil.</p><p>His aura was now the deepest blue, placid as water, like the sky near dusk.  It was such a complete change, and yet it seemed to fit the man in a way Clint couldn’t describe.  He wondered why it had turned so dark, speculating if it had something to do with his power over the Maelstrom Harp.  The Harp’s power itself was quiescent, barely there anymore, as if Phil’s control over it had somehow soothed it into some sort of sleep…if an enchanted object like that could truly say to be able to sleep, that was.</p><p>The Tal’endi looked more open and freer than at any time during the few days Clint had been on the <em>Dream.</em> He smiled as he strummed the Harp, bare foot tapping against the sun-warmed planks of the deck.  He was dressed casually as well, and he almost looked approachable.</p><p>Not that Clint would do that. </p><p>But damn, his feet were <em>bare</em>.  That felt like almost being naked.  It was as erotic as anything the hunter had ever seen before, and he didn’t know why.  Toes had never done it for him before.  He supposed a person was never too old to discover new kinks.</p><p>He really was attracted to the Tal’endi.  The man was handsome, and gifted, and a genuinely decent person.  He was also pretty sure that Phil didn’t feel the same thing, though.  It was fine, Clint was used to that occurring, and he wasn’t about to cause any sort of complications by attempting to convince Phil that they could be good together.  It would have only been for the duration of the voyage, because there was no telling what was waiting for him on Zephyr Cay.  A part of him was a little nervous about that, but he was also confident that Phil wouldn’t be friends with this Nick Fury person if he meant to do anyone intentional harm.</p><p>“Hey, Clint.”</p><p>He turned away from the dancing, to see Piper standing on the other side of the snack table, pitcher in her hand.  She was smiling, and he lifted the pitcher a little in the universal gesture of, ‘can I get you a refill’?</p><p>“Hey, Piper,” he said back, holding out his cup for the offered fill up.  She tipped the pitcher, letting the golden liquid within it fall into the cup.  He thanked her, taking a drink.  Some of the others had also made certain he was well-plied with drink, his cup never seeming to be really empty. </p><p>Yes, that was some good stuff.  He wondered what was in it.  It was cool going down, but warm staying down, and was his vision a little fuzzy around the edges?  Weird.  Maybe he was just overheated from all the dancing.</p><p>“I didn’t know dogs could dance.”  The fighter’s dark eyes were laughing as she nodded back toward the impromptu ‘dance’ floor.</p><p>Clint glanced over, grinning as he watched Lucky jumping around a laughing Daisy, nimbly avoiding the other few dancers who had joined in.  Leo was watching as well, clapping in time with the music, a quick little ditty that the hunter thought he’d heard in taverns before.  A lot of what the trio were playing seemed to be either sea shanties or drinking songs, with the odd song written specifically for dancing thrown in.  Clint had almost completely forgotten the steps to the Pictland reel Daisy had pulled him in to dance to, his feet moving almost unconsciously as the <em>halva</em>’Aalveyn had led the way.  They must have been doing something right; after only one refrain, they’d had the deck to themselves, everyone clapping along as they danced.</p><p>“Do you do this sort of thing all the time?” he asked, as Goose jumped up in the coiled rope that Davis was using as a seat, getting himself comfortable behind the Chaos Mage’s shoulders.</p><p>“Usually after a storm or any other such chaos,” Piper answered, setting the drinks pitcher down with the other two, and taking one of the cakes from a large platter they’d been arranged on.  Pretty much they’d been demolished, which made sense because they were <em>really</em> good.  Mack was a Deity in the galley.  “We have little gatherings for Naming Days, and if something happens where we all need to unwind, but that’s about it.”</p><p>So, this sort of revelry wasn’t all that common.  Well, Clint could understand.  This was a trading ship, after all, and sitting in the middle of the ocean while the crew threw a party would mean they could get behind in whatever business they had. </p><p>Still, it was fun watching this crew interact in this way, happy and carefree.  The hunter might have only been onboard for seven days – two of those spent unconscious – but he’d already noticed they were pretty much a family.</p><p>His eyes strayed back to Phil.  His head was bent over the Maelstrom Harp, bobbing in time to the beat Davis was creating on his drum, one foot tapping and a smile on his face, fingers flying over the strings of the Harp.  He was thoroughly enjoying himself, and it was endearing.  He watched as Mack leaned over and murmured something to his captain, who nodded once and, as the song ended, the Tal’endi set the harp down onto the deck and left the other two men to play the next tune, a slower song that had those dancing this time move in a little closer to their partners.  Trip was with Jemma, and Leo was dancing with Lance but, as Clint watched, they switched partners, Trip ending up with the mage and Jemma with Leo. </p><p>Clint had been a little surprised that they weren’t a couple.  It was obvious that Jemma and Leo were close; according to Daisy, they’d practically grown up together back in Brittanium.  The mercenary figured one of them must have moved next to the other, since their accents were so very different, but he’d kept himself from asking.  Even he could tell there was a story there, and it really wasn’t Clint’s business even though he was rightfully curious.  He could wait until they decided to share it with him. </p><p>Phil walked up to the table, ambling toward Clint in a loose gait, his hips rolling under the slight swaying of the deck.  Clint’s mouth suddenly went dry, and damn but he wanted to proposition the man right then and there.</p><p>He took a long gulp of his drink instead.  <em>Damn</em>, that was good stuff. </p><p>He didn’t even know if Phil <em>liked</em> men.  If he didn’t, it might make things uncomfortable until they arrived at Zephyr Cay.  Oh, Clint doubted that the Tal’endi would take offence, but it would have been Clint himself who would have felt awkward, and he’d rather stifle his need to bed the man in order to keep that from happening.</p><p>“Hey, Phil,” he greeted the captain.  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re gorgeous when you play?”</p><p>Aw, mouth.  <em>No</em>.</p><p>The Aalveyn blinked in surprise, even as he was reaching for another pitcher; not the one that Clint had been drinking from, but one that held what had smelled like lemonade.  “Um,” he murmured awkwardly, the tips of his ears pinking a little.</p><p>Piper was laughing behind her hand.  She refilled Clint’s cup without his prompting. </p><p>He took a big swig in order to hide his own embarrassment.</p><p>Phil eyed him, then looked over at Piper, his eyes widening as he caught what she was doing.  “How much has he had?”</p><p>Piper shrugged.  “I only refilled him twice.  No idea what he’s had before that.”</p><p>“And did no one think to warn him about Leo’s homebrew?”</p><p>What?</p><p>“I have no idea.”  Piper looked so innocent it had to have been an act.</p><p><em>What</em>?</p><p>The Aalveyn pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Deities save me from the pranksters on this ship.”  He sympathetically patted Clint on the arm then took his own cup back to the stool where he’d been playing, shaking his head along the way.</p><p>“Wait,” Clint called out.  “What?”</p><p>“Clint!” Daisy exclaimed, popping up next to him.  He hadn’t even noticed that the last song had ended.  “Come and dance with me again.”</p><p>She grabbed his arm, and Clint allowed her to lead him back out, but not before he set his cup down on the table, the better not to spill anything on her.  Piper was smirking, and he really wanted to ask her what the Havens was going on, but Daisy was far too insistent on having the honor of his company in the latest dance.  He wanted to ask her what was happening, but the pace of the newest reel had him out of breath in no time at all. </p><p>Two dances later, and Clint was back at the refreshment table, his cup miraculously refilled without anyone being around.  He swigged it gratefully, and the words that Phil had said came back to him, and he found himself staring into the cup suspiciously.</p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>The hunter jerked a little, not having heard First Mate Melinda’s approach.  She was looking at him, the tilt of her head almost knowing. </p><p>“Something Phil said the last time he was here,” he answered truthfully.  “Just what is Leo’s homebrew, and why should I have been warned about it?”</p><p>For the first time since his awakening onboard, the mercenary watched as Melinda’s lips spread into a wide smile.  It was a little disturbing, if he was honest, and he found himself taking an involuntary step backward.</p><p>“How many have you had?” she asked, her dark eyes dancing with laughter.</p><p>“No idea,” he admitted.  “My cup never seems to be empty, though.”</p><p>Melinda shook her head.  “We’ve found out that the least like alcohol Leo’s homebrew tastes, the more it has in it.  This batch seems to be particularly potent.”</p><p>Clint blinked, the pieces sliding into place.  “They were trying to get me drunk?” he exclaimed.  No wonder his vision had been a little soft and, now that he was thinking about it, that was most likely the reason he’d put his foot right into his mouth with Phil.</p><p>“I rather think they would have succeeded, if not for the rather vigorous dancing you’ve been doing.”</p><p>That…made sense.  Why Phil had bemoaned the tricksters onboard.  Great Deities…</p><p>Clint found himself laughing.  He couldn’t help himself.  Those bastards had tried to get him shit-faced, and they’d pretty much accomplished it.  He’d been feeling fine, and then what he’d said to Phil…oh yeah, alcohol had the ability to loosen his lips, to say things he never would have said if he’d been sober.  “I am going to have to get them back some way.”</p><p>Melinda nodded approvingly.  “They’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”</p><p>With that, she turned and walked away, and she would have made it if Clint hadn’t called her back.  “Do you care to dance?”</p><p>For the very first time, he was a witness to Melinda being completely shocked. </p><p>Then she smiled, and it was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen.  “I’m sorry, but I only dance with my husband, and he’s not here.  Thank you, though.”  She then inclined her head, making her way toward the wheelhouse door and ducking inside.</p><p>Well, he hadn’t expected <em>that</em> to happen.</p><p>That Melinda May had a husband was a bit of a surprise, but then everyone deserved to have that one person in their life that they loved so much that they wanted to bind themselves to for the rest of time.  It sounded as if she’d found that person, and the hunter found himself both happy for her, and faintly jealous.</p><p>Clint wasn’t getting any younger.  Someday, he’d have to consider settling down, and that might include a spouse at some point.  He’d long considered himself not the marrying kind, though; after all, who would want a road weary mercenary as a husband?  No, he wasn’t any sort of prize, and was most likely to die on the road than in a bed. </p><p>Still, it didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun along the way.  And these people had gotten one over on him.  The least he could do was pay them for the attempt.</p><p>Drinking down the last of Leo’s homebrew – and swearing not to have any more today – he put the cup down and stalked toward the musicians, who were just winding down from the last song, and discussing amongst themselves what to play next.</p><p>All three glanced up as he approached.  Both Davis and Mack looked amused, while Phil…well, the tips of his ears turned pink again, and Clint was sincerely apologetic for letting his mouth run away from him earlier.  Well, he had time to make it up, and at least the captain understood that he’d been a little tipsy at the time.</p><p>“Do you know ‘Ale Makes his Clothes Fall Off?” he asked. </p><p>Mack leaned his arms over his guitar, grinning like he’d just been given a really fantastic present.  “How much of Leo’s homebrew has he had?”  The laughter was a loud thread in his voice.</p><p>“I think I’m going to have to have a talk about getting people drunk against their will,” Phil sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers again.</p><p>“I am not so drunk that I can’t request a song,” Clint protested. </p><p>“Are you gonna sing it?” Davis asked, also laughing.</p><p>“I thought I might.”  He tipped his chin up a little in defiance. </p><p>After all, if the crew was willing to haze him, the least he could do was have a little fun with it.</p><p>Clint wasn’t one who sang in public, although he had it on good authority that he had a decent singing voice.  He just wasn’t one for public displays, saving that sort of thing when he was on the road by himself.</p><p>But, this wasn’t public, was it? This was amid friends, and those friends had just proved that he was a part of them, by playing a joke on him.  Sure, it had been to get him falling down drunk, and it might have worked except for the bouts of physical exercise he’d been getting with all the fast dancing, he’d most likely been sweating a lot of the alcohol out of his system. </p><p>No, he wasn’t drunk.  But he really felt the need to repay them for his obvious welcome.</p><p>Phil sighed.  “You are crazy, Clint.”</p><p>“Been told that before,” Clint shrugged.  “I like to think I’m…innovative.  And I want to innovate myself right into this crew.  If that means I’m willing to make a fool out of myself, then so be it.   So, do you know the song?”</p><p>Mack nodded.  “I know it.”</p><p>“So do I.”  Davis settled his drum between his knees, and began tapping out the beat. </p><p>“I think I’ll sit this one out.”  Phil stood, placed the Maelstrom Harp on the deck, then headed away toward the refreshment table once more.</p><p>Mack’s fingers began strumming along.  Clint turned and faced the crew, putting a wide smile on his face as he gained everyone’s attention.  It should have made him nervous, but for some reason it didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He said, “I’m going out with friends,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ale at the tavern down the road.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh Deities, have mercy, my only thought</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Was that Ale makes his clothes fall off.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>People began grinning as they listened to the words Clint was singing.  He’d chosen this song specifically because it was absolutely outrageous, and lent itself to someone’s drunk-singing it. </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I told him to put an extra layer on,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know what happens when he drinks.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His wardrobe is missing half of what he’s bought,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, ale makes his clothes fall off.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Jemma had her hand over her mouth to cover her laughter.  Piper didn’t even bother doing that; her hands were on her knees, and she was chortling like mad.  Leo’s mouth had dropped open, his face a little red.  Daisy was clapping along, her eyes sparkling and her toes tapping.  She mouthed, “Way to go!” back at him. </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He’ll start by kicking off his shoes,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lose a button or two in his drink.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Leave his jacket in the privy stall,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes, ale makes his clothes fall off. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Up by the table, Phil’s own mouth had fallen open, but it wasn’t in shock; it was in sheer humor, like Clint was the funniest thing he’d ever seen, and he was appreciating it.  Lance was leaning on his captain’s shoulder, shaking his head, hilarity in his very posture.  Trip was leaning back against the heavy duty table, his own smile threatening to misplace his ears.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He can handle several beers,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He can even drink cups of mead.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But ale is his weakness </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It really does make his clothes fall off.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Melinda had popped her head up out of the wheelhouse door, and she was shaking her head.  But he could tell that she was appreciating the sight, and approved of his behavior.  The hunter wondered if this was what having a doting parent felt like.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He don’t mean anything by it,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He’s just having his fun.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tomorrow he’ll say, “Havens what have I done?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His friends will joke about the stuff he’s lost.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, ale makes his clothes fall off.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, ale makes his clothes fall off. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Everyone joined in on the last bit, the laughter flowing over the deck as the song was complete.  There was applause all around the crew, and Clint took a bow, hamming it up by a flourish as he practically folded himself at an angle, face fully pointing toward the deck.  He’d chosen that particular song on purpose, to show that he could poke fun at himself as much as they were poking fun at him, that he could go along with it and be entertaining while doing it. </p><p>There was a part of him that didn’t quite appreciate being gotten drunk; he’d seen drunkards before, and how ugly it could get when one couldn’t control their actions.  But this hadn’t been meant as a bad thing, and he could appreciate the fact that they thought of him as a part of their crew enough to haze him just for being there. </p><p>Clint stood upright, his arms flung out from his sides, grinning fit to burst.  He genuinely adored these people, and was glad to be amongst them.</p><p>He let his eyes wander over to where Phil stood.  The Aalveyn captain was smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and the hunter’s heart did a little counter thump at the sight of his aura: purest blue, clear as the cloudless sky, peaceful and calm.  His invisible wings were placid against his back, and Clint could see that this meant he was happy. </p><p>Well, that made him doing what he’d done a lot less embarrassing.</p><p>He did his best not to think too much on that.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have written a few songs for this story, and this is the first.  It's also the only one (so far!) that's actually loosely based on a real song, called "Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off" written by Joe Nichols, so I can't take total credit for it, although I changed the pronouns and tweaked it to fit into this universe.  I just adored the lyrics and couldn't help myself.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Phil made his way up onto the deck, stretching a little as he left his cabin.  He’d thought himself tired enough to sleep, but it had eluded him, as his mind replayed images from the party earlier in the day. </p><p>Images of Clint Barton.</p><p>He’d known immediately that the hunter had been at Leo’s honey mead when he’d blurted out that Phil was gorgeous when he played.  Phil certainly didn’t consider himself any sort of prize, looks-wise, so it had been obvious that Clint wasn’t speaking any sort of sense.  Only Leo’s homebrew did that to a person. </p><p>Still, the compliment…well, it had been <em>nice</em>.  Oh, Phil had been called handsome before, but not gorgeous.  That was a new one, and he’d enjoyed it a little too much.  He didn’t want to look too closely at that, to be honest.  He was well aware of his faults: he was losing his hair, something that Aalveyn sometimes did, but not until they were way past two thousand turns old.  Phil was just over seven hundred, so it was a little irritating.</p><p>He had those wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and he was well aware his face got too bland at times.  He wasn’t the tallest member of his Race, although he wasn’t the shortest, either.  Middle height was more like it, and he wasn’t all that thin, even though he knew he was in very good shape from working with his crew.  He had freckles on his nose, and that nose had once been broken and not set quite right.</p><p>No, Phil wasn’t a prize by any stretch of the imagination.</p><p>But that drunken compliment had…well, Phil wasn’t sure <em>what</em> it had done.  He just couldn’t stop thinking about it.  He knew for sure that Clint would never have said it, not without all that honey mead in his system.  He just needed to put it out of his mind.  It hadn’t meant anything.</p><p>Still, there was that small part of himself that wanted to preen a little at the use of that word.  No one had ever called him that before, and he wanted to hold it close to his heart and cherish it. </p><p>He wasn’t at all sure what that meant, to be honest.</p><p>He set his bare feet onto the main deck, taking a deep breath.  He hadn’t bothered changing out of his sleep clothes, knowing that Mack would be the only one awake at that mark.  Sometimes he wondered just how his second mate managed to get by on so little sleep, and Phil found himself wishing he could do the same thing. </p><p>There were a few clouds out, the remnants of the storm they’d run through the other day.  Beyond them, the stars glittered brightly overhead.  Phil wasn’t like Trip, who knew the stars like the back of his hand, but he’d been at sea for a long time, and he knew all of the major navigational patterns: the Hunter, the Book, and the Eight-Pointed Star were the ones on the rise at the tick, separated by the River, a glowing swath of stars that ran from south to north, bisecting the twelve star groups that represented the Deities.    </p><p>Three out of the four moons were up.  Snowdream was low on the horizon, just at crescent, while Windstorm was full and just rising.  Wavewhisper was high; only Firedance wasn’t up, but that speedy little moon was most likely be rising again soon.</p><p>Phil took another deep breath of the salty ocean air, enjoying the smell and the taste of it on his tongue.  He loved being out there, away from all land, just letting the waves rock his ship beneath his feet.  When he’d left Aal’valla, what he was going to do out in the world hadn’t even been a thought.  All he’d wanted to do was escape, to become his own man, and to never set foot on his home soil again.  It had been an escape from all the pain and loneliness he’d experienced amongst his own clan, let alone with the man who was supposed to have loved him, but instead had treated him like a curse from the very beat of his birth.</p><p>From the beat he’d been revealed as Tal’endi.</p><p>Shaking off the morbid thought, Phil took a walk about the deck, just taking in his ship.  He’d lived on <em>Lola’s Dream </em>longer than he had on Zephyr Cay, but then he’d bought the ship first before settling down somewhere on land as well. As much as his adored his house in Cayside, with its extra rooms for Daisy and the younger members of the crew and any of Daisy’s friends who wanted to stay over and with plenty of space for Wanda and Pietro – who couldn’t sail with him any longer – the Aalveyn knew that this ship would always be closer to his heart than any home on land could ever be. </p><p>“Couldn’t sleep?”</p><p>He turned and looked up, to where Mack was standing at the wheel.  His second mate was a larger shadow against the night, watching out for anything that might come amiss with the ship overnight.  Being their only devotee of Peace, Mack really was the best person to stand the late watch, and he was very appreciative that Mack was willing to do it.</p><p>Some nights, Leo would sit with him for a while, but not tonight.  Tonight, Mack was alone except for Goose, who gave Phil a little noise in greeting, actually extending one of his mouth tentacles in welcome, thick blue spittle dripping a little onto Mack’s shirt.  The Flerken was curled up on one of Mack’s broad shoulders, looking quite comfortable indeed, grey eyes blinking slowly.</p><p>“Damnit Goose,” Mack groused good-naturedly.  “That slime is a bitch to get out.”</p><p>Goose gave a sound reminiscent of a raspberry, then closed his eyes and curled a little tighter, avoiding the drip of glowing blue on the man’s tunic.</p><p>Phil chuckled.  “Just be glad you’re not James.  Goose would have licked instead of just drooled on you.”</p><p>“You’re not kidding.  I never understood why Goose likes him so much.”</p><p>“Neither does James.”  James Barnes was a good friend, and the one person on Marvala that Goose adored unreservedly…next to Carol Danvers and her family and, of course, Nick.  “And, to answer your question… no, I couldn’t sleep.  Not sure why.”</p><p>He took the ladder up to the wheelhouse, joining Mack on watch.  It wasn’t the first time he’d ever done this.  Mack was a good companion to have when he wanted time to consider his options, and sometimes having company even when that companion stayed quiet and let him think was a good thing.</p><p>Being of Peace, Alphonso Mackenzie just exuded this…presence, that had a calming effect at times.  Mack looked like he could punch a person unconscious with one blow, and he <em>could</em>…but most of the time the second mate was like a big, stuffed toy that made people want to cuddle him.  Phil had no idea how he managed to do it, but chalked it up to it being one of his gifts and accepted it.</p><p>“I could always make you a cup of that fancy herbal tea Melinda likes,” Mack offered as soon as Phil was next to him.  “It’s pretty soothing and might help.”</p><p>He considered it, then shook his head. “Melinda might kill us both for using up her tea like that.”</p><p>Mack snorted.  “You have a point.”</p><p>Phil was quiet for a tick, then said, “What do you think of Clint?”</p><p>“As…what?”  Mack was genuinely confused by the question.</p><p>“As a member of the crew.”</p><p>“Ah, of course.”  Mack gave that some thought.  “He fits in well.  He hasn’t shied away from anything he’s been asked to do.  Davis loves him for taking him off lookout duty.  And Daisy loves that dog so much she’s willing to take Barton along with him.”</p><p>Laughing, Phil agreed.  “Both Daisy and Melinda think he’d make a good crewmember.”</p><p>Mack nodded slowly.  “Yes, he would.  And having someone who’s a master of ranged weaponry would sure come in handy if we ran into any pirates.  Are you planning on asking him?”</p><p>“Maybe,” Phil allowed, “although it depends on what Nick wants from him.”</p><p>“True.”  Mack agreed.  “And after him singing that song today, I think he’s perfect for this gang of troublemakers.”</p><p>That was true.  The last thing Phil had been expected – after that compliment, which he was doing his best to forget about – had been Clint Barton stepping up in front of the others and singing that utterly ridiculous song.  His voice had been like roughened honey, and Phil had never been so surprised before in his life.  It hadn’t been at all what he’d been expecting, for the hunter to stand up in front of the crew and make a complete fool out of himself like that.</p><p>The Aalveyn had blamed it on the mead at first, but it had become pretty obvious that Clint hadn’t been as drunk as all that.  He was certain it was the physical activity that had kept him from getting so roaring drunk that he’d lost control…</p><p>A small voice in his mind was telling him that would mean that Clint hadn’t been all that drunk when he’d called Phil ‘gorgeous’.  That it <em>hadn’t</em> been the mead talking.</p><p>He was pretty certain that little voice was wrong.</p><p>“Think we can work out another share of profit if we have him on board permanently?”</p><p>“Well, I’m not the bookkeeper for our motley band, but I shouldn’t think that would be a problem.”  He turned to regard Phil, his dark eyes glittering under the stars.  “I do think that the question should be, do <em>you</em> think there will be a problem?”</p><p>Phil shook his head.  “Clint would only be an asset, if he agreed to it.  I’ve thought about it, and I have to agree with both Daisy and Melinda on that.”</p><p>“I’m not asking about whether there’s a problem with him joining the crew.  I’m asking if <em>you</em> will have a problem with him being on the ship.”</p><p>Phil blinked.  “Why would I have a problem?” he asked, even though he had a sneaking suspicion he knew where Mack might have been going with this.</p><p>“Phil.”  He rested his corded forearms on the wheel, staring the Aalveyn right in the eye. “It hasn’t escaped notice that you…keep your eye on Clint Barton.  And <em>not</em> because you don’t trust him.  <em>That’s</em> a completely different expression than the one I saw today.”</p><p>Well, it was a little worse than he’d thought.  He hadn’t realized he’d been doing it.  Yes, Clint was a very attractive man, and he couldn’t be blamed for noticing.  Not that anything would ever happen; despite that odd compliment from earlier, Phil really didn’t expect anything.</p><p>And nothing would happen, either.  No matter how long Clint was onboard the <em>Dream</em>.</p><p>“You’re reading something into this that’s just not there,” he told his friend.  “And I think you know that.”</p><p>“We all know about that vow you made,” Mack answered.  He sounded a little upset.  “And we even know why you did it.  But you can’t tell me you’ve been celibate for hundreds of turns.  This could be good for you, and it’s pretty damned apparent that Clint is attracted to you.”</p><p>Phil shook his head.  No, Clint wasn’t.  Of that, he was certain.  He might have blurted out that compliment, but it didn’t have to mean anything.  Clint had been drinking the honey mead and, even if he wasn’t completely drunk, there had to have been enough alcohol in his blood to have loosened his tongue.</p><p>His entire crew understood why he’d made the vow he’d had, to never get deeply involved with someone with a shorter lifespan than he had.  Emotional entanglement with a person from a Race that wasn’t Aalveyn would be a mistake, and he’d thought his people had understood that. </p><p>It was why he kept himself a little distant from his crew.  They were all Human, and would live only a fraction of the turns that Phil would.  He’d been through the pain of losing those closest to him many times in the past, and he’d learned those lessons well.  Getting his heart broken was something he wanted to avoid if he possibly could.  It had already happened too many times.</p><p>Once, really was too many times.  Phil just wasn’t that strong, not like that.</p><p>Only Daisy would live longer.  And, of course, Wanda and Pietro.  Phil wouldn’t be losing them for a very long time, so he could afford to be closer to them and not think about the pain he would have if and when he lost them.</p><p>It was why he allowed Daisy the liberties she took. </p><p>And, certainly, he’d taken lovers before.  Human, Aalveyn, and <em>halva</em>’Aalveyn.  But they had been for, at the most, a couple of nights only, with no attachments.  It had scratched an itch, and Phil had been fine with leaving them behind in whatever port of call he’d found them in.  Yes, it might have given him a feeling of missing something in his life, which was why those times were few and far between, but he’d been perfectly fine with that. </p><p>He also had…certain scars, that he didn’t want anyone to see.</p><p>Still, while those few times had been pleasant, there had been that notion that they hadn’t been all that satisfying.  That what he really wanted was someone he could completely be himself with, wings and scars and insecurities and all, and that person simply didn’t exist.</p><p>Phil was perfectly content to live without that sort of connection, no matter what Peggy claimed.</p><p>And now, Mack was bringing it up.  Bringing up Clint in the same suggestion…it didn’t help that he was beginning to wonder if, somehow, the hunter did know about his wings.  That he was a Tal’endi.  He’d noticed Clint’s eyes flickering to somewhere behind him several times, and he’d seen the Maelstrom Harp for what it was.  Just how had he done it?  It must have been a gift he hadn’t deigned to share with anyone, even though there had been a couple of times that Phil had wanted to ask him about it.</p><p>But then, everyone had secrets.  Phil was willing to let this one lie despite his curiosity, unless Clint somehow gave his secret away.  Then all bets were off.  And, if Clint didn’t mention it at all, the better.  His wings were his burden to bear, even if couldn’t feel the physical weight of them when he kept them hidden. Their presence was like a curse, although they were supposed to be a gift. </p><p>There were times when Phil wondered how Light felt about the Aalveyn treating something that he’d granted as a curse.  The Deity couldn’t be all that pleased with it.</p><p>“I think you’re overstepping your bounds,” he spoke, his voice with a hint of steel under the blandness.  He didn’t know why his second mate was doing this, and he wanted to put a stop to it as soon as he could.</p><p>Mack, however, had never backed down for as long as Phil had known him, since the boy who would grow into the man beside him had asked for a job in order to support his younger brother.  Deities, that had been twenty-five turns ago.  It was strange how time passed. </p><p>“If you think having Clint Barton on this ship is a good idea, then I’ll back you all the way,” his second mate replied, “but, even I can see you favor him, Boss.  Maybe it’s not something you’ve even realized yourself, but it’s there.  I know about that vow.  I know what would happen if you decided you wanted Barton, if just for one night.  And I know you’d never be able to see him again if you did do that.” </p><p>Mack was speaking sense, although Phil didn’t want to hear it.  Because he was right.  If something <em>should</em> happen between himself and Clint…there could never be anything between them.  Even if he decided he truly was attracted to the hunter, he wouldn’t act on it.  Clint would be a member of his crew, his <em>family</em>, and even with the vow he’d made, there was no messing with family.  He would sooner cut off his arm than do anything like that.</p><p>“You don’t have anything to be concerned about,” he finally spoke.  “If Clint does want to join us, nothing can happen.  And nothing would happen anyway.”  Phil straightened, knowing he would never be as tall as his second mate, but needing that little extra height anyway.  “I would appreciate you not bringing up my vow again, Mack.  You’re a friend, and a valued member of this crew.  I will always listen to what you have to say.  But this is personal, and I don’t like having it thrown back in my face.  It’s going to be bad enough when you and the others eventually pass on.  I don’t need to be reminded of it.”</p><p>There was something in Mack’s eyes, that Phil simply refused to acknowledge. “We only want you to be happy.  We care about you.”</p><p>Phil relaxed a little at that admission.  “I know.  But this is the path I’ve chosen, and no pretty Human is going to make me break the oath I’ve taken.” </p><p>With that, he went down the ladder again, and back toward his quarters.  He wasn’t angry; not at all.  He was a little disappointed, but he could certainly understand where Mack was coming from in his concern.  But he was Human, he had a love, and he didn’t really get why Phil didn’t want the sort of emotional entanglements that getting involved with Clint Barton would entail.</p><p>Because, now that Phil had had his regard pointed out – a regard that he hadn’t even been aware he’d been showing – he understood just what getting into a relationship with someone who would, if the Deities were kind, would live for another seventy turns.  Phil himself would live for almost fifty times that, if he didn’t get himself killed in some foolish way.  Loving a member of a short-lived Race would only end in heartbreak. </p><p>No, he could ignore it.  He didn’t want his heart broken, and he would protect it as best he could.  He’d been doing that for over four hundred turns now, and he would continue to do it until the day of his passing to the Havens.</p><p>And no pretty Human was going to get him to change his mind.</p><p>No pretty Human was going to break his heart.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>It was exactly two tendays from leaving Morgantown that the <em>Lola’s Dream </em>came into dock at the harbor of Zephyr Cay.</p><p>Zephyr Cay was the largest northernmost island of the Shield Archipelago, which was a long line of about two thousand islands of varying sizes that stretched from the north just east of the Principality of Sokovia, all the way south past the Kingdom of Wakanda.  Clint knew that most of those islands were just specks in the middle of the ocean, but there were at least a hundred that were inhabited by all sorts: Humans, Aalveyn, Skell, as well as several bands of pirates that Clint understood only preyed on vessels that <em>didn’t</em> run the flag of the Archipelago.  The residents were fiercely independent and the only ruling party in the islands, the Governor, was on the main island, Triskelia, which sat just south of the center of the Archipelago. Clint seemed to recall the Governor’s name was Alexander Pierce, and that he was a bit of an asshole.</p><p>Zephyr Cay itself was east and south of Aal’valla, the homeland of the Aalveyn.  It certainly wasn’t the largest island in the group – that honor belonged to Triskelia – but it was a trading hub between Waverlyn and Aal’valla, and on a trade route to both Sokovia in the west and Asgard in the east, with Brittanium still farther east of Asgard.  The main port was on the northern part of the island, sheltered behind a jut of land that sheltered the deep-water bay that was the pride of the Cay. </p><p>Clint leaned on the rail of the <em>Dream </em>as Trip navigated their way around to the north of the island, sharp eyes taking in everything as they passed.  He’d never been to Zephyr Cay; he’d been to Triskelia several times in the past, but had never gone as far north as the Cay.  It was north enough that he would have expected it to be a little chillier than the southern climes, but it wasn’t.  Maybe because of some sort of warm water currents in the area?  The archer wasn’t a seaman, nor a follower of Peace, so his knowledge of the waters was practically nil. </p><p>Oh, he knew how to fish, but that was about it.  And it was enough, really, when a person needed to eat and there weren’t any land animals around to hunt.</p><p>Or when he wanted to put a dead fish in someone’s bed, as payback for that attempt to get him drunk.  Davis had a very impressive number of curse words in his vocabulary. </p><p>Piper was even more amazing in that regard.  Clint had been in awe of her.</p><p>Zephyr Cay was relatively flat, except for a pair of craggy mountains near the northern side of the island, most likely the remains of volcanoes that had formed the island itself back in some Eternity past.  As Clint watched, something rose from near the top of the taller of the two…his breath caught in his throat as he recognized it as a Dragon.  As far as he’d been aware, Dragons only lived in Sokovia, so seeing one there was a shock.  It also seemed smaller than what Clint was aware Dragons could be.</p><p>Clint’s eyes tracked the Dragon as it rose higher, red scales glinting in the sun.  It wheeled about the top of the mountain once it cleared it, and then flew to the north.  If the archer were any judge, it would have been heading toward the same place they were going; the main port, Cayside. </p><p>What would a Dragon want there?  Dragons weren’t known to be around towns so much, and were as capricious as the God of Strike, their creator, was.  He’d heard rumors of the one that had burned the original Waverlyn Castle to the ground, on the night of the attack that had left most of the royal family dead.  Only Charles, the King’s eldest son, had survived to rule.</p><p>He must have let his surprise be known out loud, because Daisy – whom he’d become fast friends with, to his utter surprise – asked, “You can see the Dragon?”</p><p>Clint continued to watch even as he was answering, “I have really good eyesight.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know.”  He could practically hear her eye rolling at him.  “But that’s a bit better than what you’ve let on.”</p><p>The mercenary felt a little stung by her doubt.  “It’s red, and it came from the mountains.” It came out a little defensively.</p><p>Daisy must have caught the tone, because she immediately apologized.  “I didn’t mean to insult you.  Honestly.  I’m just surprised you can see Wanda from here, that’s all.  She’s not all that big.”</p><p>He turned to look at her then, his eyebrows raising toward his hairline.  “Wanda?” That sounded like quite an ordinary name for an extraordinary creature.</p><p>“Well, that’s what we call her.  Her real name’s even more unpronounceable than Phil’s is.  She and her twin brother, Pietro, live on Zephyr Cay.  He’s silver, so it was Wanda you saw.”  She grinned.  “They’re friends of Phil’s.  Well, more like Phil adopted them, there’s paperwork for it and everything.  He saved them from some Humans who wanted to kill them when they were no more than babies, and they swore a blood debt.  That was about two hundred turns ago.”</p><p>Clint turned back just in time to see another Dragon, this one silver, also emerge from the mountain and fly off after the other.  “I just saw Pietro leave as well.”</p><p>“They must know we’re on our way back to port, probably on their way to Phil’s house.  They’re pretty great, actually.  You’ll love them.” </p><p>He would take her word for that, and silently hoped that he’d get to meet both Dragons.  He didn’t want to risk what dignity he had left in making high-pitched, excited noises at the idea, even though most of the stories he’d heard tell hadn’t exactly ended well.  He doubted Phil would have adopted them if they were nasty or anything.</p><p>As he and Daisy stood there, the town of Cayside came into view from around the promontory.  It was an expansive place, straggling out along the inner side of the bay, leaving the outer strip of headland bare except for a lighthouse that marked the entry into the port; it would have been the perfect storm break if it was needed, and Clint had heard stories of maelstroms and waves and storms that often broke upon the Shield Islands, so he could see the reasoning behind not expanding the town out onto that high spit of land.  The lighthouse itself would have been built sturdily enough to handle any sort of storm that hit it.</p><p>There was a staggered row of jetties along the part of the town that led onto to bay, quite a few of them occupied by a variety of ships.  Small slips, larger schooners, and even a single, five-masted warship were tied to the wooden piers that jutted out into the deep waters of the bay, and the warehouses along those piers were bustling with activity.  Past the warehouses and the Port Authority office nearby, Cayside was laid out, and with Clint’s superior eyesight he could see that the town, if it had been built in a pattern it wasn’t really <em>wasn’t</em> one that the archer could make out.  Houses, shops, and what he thought was at least one forge – he could see the thin wisp of smoke rising in the air from the fires – everything that a town usually had, and it sprawled along the bay and intruded deeper inland, almost to the foot of the mountains themselves. </p><p>Cayside was a bit larger than Clint had believed.</p><p>Off in the distance, Clint could also make out the tall spires of a Cathedral of the Eternities.  It towered over everything else, on a small rise just outside of town, framed against the pair of mountains.  Every place the mercenary had been in his travels had at least one such place, even if he’d never set foot inside one.</p><p>Clint might have had Darkness as a patron, but that didn’t make him especially religious.  Oh, he knew how to appease the Goddess, even prayed to her at times, but going to official service had never been something he’d wanted to do.  His foster parents had taken him every tenth day when he’d been a child, but he’d never been overly comfortable in service, only barely learning the <em>Book of the Eternities</em>, just enough to get by. </p><p>He’d also been to school, but the lessons there didn’t revolve about the Twelve.  Of course, there was a lot of history that had its roots in what the Twelve had done to create Marvala and the races that lived on her, but he’d never been hit over the head with religion.  For which Clint was grateful, if he was honest.  But then, he’d also only been an average student, preferring to learn things on his own than in a structured environment.</p><p>Clint thought he was better off for it.  Some of the propaganda that got taught in schools made him cringe. Everything of use he’d learned, he learned on the road, listening to travelers and barkeeps and bards as they spun their tales over a mug of ale or beer, or in front of a campfire.  Or experiencing it first-hand.</p><p>That wasn’t to say that an education was something to turn one’s nose up at.  There were some gifts that <em>needed</em> that sort of thing, like Daisy’s Druidic powers, and Jemma’s healing ability.  Clint, though, with his archery skills and his being able to see auras and secrets and in the dark and such, really didn’t require that sort of thing.  In fact, his archery had come naturally to him, from the first moment he’d picked up his foster father’s longbow and shot out the center of a target at one hundred paces.  He still could recall the surprise on his father’s face; Clint had been a skinny kid, all of eleven turns old, and the longbow had been over twice his height.  He shouldn’t have been able to draw it, let alone hit anything on the first attempt, and he’d had to shoot with the bow turned on its side.</p><p>Daisy excused herself, leaving Clint alone at the rail, watching as Trip, at the wheel, expertly piloted the <em>Dream </em>into the berth two down from the massive battleship.  There wasn’t even a bump as the ship came to a stop, so smooth was the movement.  Several people came out and began tying off the ropes that members of the crew had tossed them; with what seemed like disgusting ease, they tugged <em>Lola’s Dream </em>a little closer to the jetty, looping the thick ropes about the pylons on the pier, keeping her in place. </p><p>There was a slight dragging sound, and Clint turned to watch as Davis and Second Mate Mack slid the gangplank down from a section of the railing that had been pulled up and away from the rest, letting the wide plank touch down on the pier.  One of the onshore workers waved, making a small adjustment of the plank with his foot, and then stepped back in order to aid the rest of his fellows in getting the ship officially berthed. </p><p>He heard Phil call out, and he sought out the Aalveyn; he was standing on top of the wheelhouse, hands behind his back, smiling down at the crew as they gathered, First Mate Melinda and Pilot Trip on either side.  “We’ll be in dock for a while,” he told them, “so you’re free to visit family or do whatever it is you do during our downtime.  If and when that changes, I know where to leave word for you.  For now…dismissed.”</p><p>The crew scattered.  Clint himself headed down to the bunk he’d been using since awakening onboard – he shared with Trip whom, after forgiving him for holding his captain at arrow point, had befriended him – to gather his belongings from the trunk he’d been given to keep them in.  Waiting for him was Goose, who was giving him a grey-eyed stare as he sat on the closed lid of the trunk.  The Flerken had also seemed to take a liking to him, and even to Lucky despite the dog’s tendency to slobber all over the creature at the least provocation.  At least he wasn’t chasing Goose like he would’ve a normal cat.</p><p>Clint greeting the Flerken, knowing that he could talk to Goose like he would just anyone and that he would understand.  “You mind if I get my stuff?” </p><p>Goose’s tail flicked once, and then the creature jumped down, giving the archer access to the trunk. </p><p>Clint thanked him as the Flerken left the cabin, and then opened the trunk and to reveal everything within.  It didn’t take long to get ready; he’d kept things pretty well packed unless he’d needed something, and the ship had a surprisingly decent laundry so the only clothes that weren’t clean were the ones he was currently wearing. </p><p>He turned to regard Lucky, who was sacked out on their bunk.  As he slipped his last knife into place, he prodded the dog, who grumbled as he woke up.  “Come on, you lazy thing,” he teased.  “We’re docked.”</p><p>Lucky’s head popped up, and he jumped down off the bed.  He hadn’t been all that fond of sailing, preferring to sleep most of the time away, so Clint was very much aware how excited the dog was to be back on land.  He woofed, his one eye looking up at Clint, as if telling him to get a move on.</p><p>Clint obliged. </p><p>With his packs over one shoulder and his quiver over the other, bow in hand, the mercenary headed back up to the deck, Lucky’s claws clicking on the boards.  His leg had healed quite nicely over the course of the last two tens, thanks to Daisy and Jemma, and he wasn’t even limping anymore.  Clint had already thanked them profusely for their taking care of his only companion; Jemma had blushed a little, playing her actions down, while Daisy had grinned and given Lucky a good rub across the head. </p><p>Lucky adored them both. </p><p>Clint could understand it.</p><p>“Clint.”</p><p>He glanced behind him, smiling when he saw Phil coming down the stairs from the wheelhouse.  In the sunlight, the tiniest flash of metaphysical wings gave the Aalveyn an almost angelic aspect, and then was gone.  “Phil.”  It had only been about four days into the journey when he’d started calling the captain by his chosen given name; Phil didn’t seem to mind and had, in fact, begun calling him Clint instead of “Master Barton” or other variations thereof. </p><p>In fact, the only person who seemed to take offence at Clint’s familiarity with the <em>Dream</em>’s captain was its first mate.  But then, he got the impression that Melinda May took offence at a lot of things, especially if it had to do with Phil.  Clint would have suspected there was more between them than just Captain and First Mate, except Melinda had mentioned a husband on Zephyr Cay waiting for her.  He had to put it up there with the intense loyalty the crew had for their leader. </p><p>Otherwise, he got along with her really well.  He thought asking her to dance had something to do with it, even if she hadn’t accepted.</p><p>But then, after the party, the distance between himself and Phil had grown, as if the Aalveyn had taken a step back and had slotted him into a ‘friendly acquaintance’ category.  Sure, he still called Clint by his familiar name, but that was about it.  The hunter figured it had to do with his slip of the tongue, calling Phil ‘gorgeous’, and he cursed himself for letting himself get that loose lipped that it seemed to have ruined any chance he might have had with the handsome Tal’endi.</p><p>Phil joined him on the deck.  “We’ll head into town together,” he said.  “I’m sure you’re curious about why I was asked to bring you here.”</p><p>That was an understatement.  Clint got the distinct impression that Phil would have told him everything…if he knew anything, which he didn’t.  This man, Nick Fury, who had asked Phil and his crew to come after him, hadn’t shared the reason, and he could tell that it irritated Phil to be kept in the dark about it.  Phil had confided that it had only been his friendship with the man that had had him doing what Fury asked without asking any questions when it had become obvious that he wasn’t going to get any answers.  He had to have had a good reason for not saying anything, Phil had said, one night after the crew had had dinner. </p><p>Well, Clint didn’t know the man.  So he was going to have to prove himself to the archer before anything else happened.  Yes, he trusted Phil when he’d said that Fury was a decent person, if a little ruthless, but that meant absolutely nothing to Clint. </p><p>Although it was a testament to the trust he had in Phillipjaraynan’coulson that he was willing to give Fury a chance. </p><p>Clint wasn’t about to question why he’d trusted the Aalveyn almost immediately after their rather disastrous first meeting.</p><p>He had a feeling it had to do with how he treated his crew.  Phil was even-handed and kind, and yet could give orders when needed.  He listened to them and respected their opinions.  He was a leader that anyone would be honored to follow.</p><p>“I’m ready whenever you are,” Clint replied. </p><p>Phil gave him a smaller, and seemingly more intimate than usual, smile.  “After you.”  He waved his arm dramatically toward the gangplank. </p><p>Clint mock-bowed in his direction, then headed toward the place in the ship’s railing where the plank had been fitted, Lucky at his side.  He wanted to lie to himself and say that Phil wasn’t fascinating to him, but he could tell that it didn’t go both ways despite the Aalveyn’s friendly attitude toward him. But that was all it was, being friendly to a guest he’d saved and then practically kidnapped on board in order to take him to some mysterious asshole who couldn’t have shared the reason why he’d wanted Phil to bring along a mercenary to begin with. </p><p>Clint just knew if he stayed on the ship any longer his fascination would quickly become attraction…if it hadn’t already.  But he knew that it would be impossible, for a lot of reasons including the fact of Phil’s polite distance, so it was best he meet with this Fury and find out just what was going on.</p><p>He moved down the gangplank easily, Lucky following more slowly, unsure of his footing.  Setting foot on the dock at Cayside, Clint turned to wait for his guide. </p><p>It looked as if Phil had been stopped as they were leaving, by a stern-looking Melinda May, the first mate speaking to him fiercely at the head of the gangplank.  The mercenary couldn’t hear what she was saying, but whatever it was Phil simply stood there, his face blandly attentive, arms crossed.  Finally, as Clint watched, Phil rolled her eyes at her, and stepped onto the gangplank, walking down it with a grace that would have had Clint being slightly jealous of if he didn’t know that Phil had had plenty of practice at disembarking a ship.</p><p>Melinda called out, Phil waved without looking at her, and joined Clint on the wooden planks of the dock.  “What was that all about?” he asked curiously.  He hadn’t missed First Mate Melinda’s aura flaring about her as she’d spoken, as if her own magic wanted to come into action.  Phil’s aura, though, had remained calm and placid, so her outburst hadn’t appeared to have bothered him.</p><p>“Oh,” the Aalveyn answered flippantly, “she’s being a pain in my ass.  It just shows that she cares.  Come on, we’ll get a couple of horses at the stable down the way and ride to Nick’s.” </p><p>He walked off down the long pier, Clint at his side with Lucky trotting along between them.  Together, they headed toward the warehouses, turning right when they reached the main loading area at the end of the pier.  It was busy at that time of day, with dockworkers and laborers moving back and forth between the various ships; there was a group towing a large wagon behind them heading toward <em>Lola’s Dream</em> herself, going to offload the cargo that Phil and his crew had managed to gather before finding Clint in Morgantown.  It wouldn’t have been much, because they’d located him rather precipitously, but the archer knew any sort of goods would help offset the cost of the errand that Fury had sent Phil on. </p><p>“Phil!” A female voice called out from behind them.</p><p>They both turned.  An Aalveyn woman was approaching at a trot, her dark hair pulled away from her face in a messy tail, dark eyes as smiling as her red-painted lips.  She was dressed in shades of blue, which clashed a little with the rich burgundy of her aura, marking her as a follower of Good. </p><p>Phil was smiling delightedly.  “Peggy!” he greeted her, accepting the hug she gave him.</p><p>Some sort of strange emotion stabbed Clint right in the chest at the sight. </p><p>What?</p><p>He had no idea what it was, but it wasn’t pleasant.  He’d just ignore it, then.</p><p>Two other men had accompanied the woman, both Human.  The blond was slightly taller, clean cut and wearing deep blue leathers, carrying a shield that had Clint’s eyebrows rising a little in surprise.  It, and the man’s deep indigo aura, pegged him as a follower or Order…but not just any sort of follower, but an actual Knight of Order, the eight-pointed star prominent against the red, white, and blue of that round metal shield. </p><p>The man with him was dark where his companion was light, his own brown hair long and held back away from his face with a band that circled his forehead.  He was wearing more weapons than Clint could tell, including a massive sword that was in a sheath at his back…and he had a metal arm that practically radiated magic, bright silver against the black trousers and tunic he had on.  This was an assassin, a Master of Death, and the archer just managed to suppress the slight shiver that went through him at the sight, although it wasn’t fear…it was in awe, his aura a thing of beauty, the way it moved around him like a living cloak.</p><p>Phil had let go on the woman – Peggy – and was turning to embrace the men that had come with her.  Each in their own way looked glad to see him, and Clint let a little of his guard drop at the knowledge that the Aalveyn was familiar with them all. </p><p>“And who is this?” the woman inquired, giving Clint the onceover.  Her accent would have put her from somewhere in Brittanium, yet she was Aalveyn.  It was a puzzle that had him curious to know how she’d gained it.  Was she one of the few Aalveyn who’d grown up outside of Aal’valla?  That made sense.</p><p>“This is Master Hunter Clint Barton,” Phil did the introductions.  “Clint, this is Margaretelsebeth’carter, a very old and dear friend of mine…in fact, we grew up together.”</p><p>Alright, whatever it was that Clint had experienced when he’d seen them hug faded a little.  He really wished he knew what that feeling was, because he didn’t like it.</p><p>And apparently she hadn’t grown up outside Aal’valla, if she’d known Phil as a child.  That made the accent even more incongruous.</p><p>“Our parents wanted us to marry when we became of age,” Margaretelsebeth’carter smiled.  “And it’s Peggy.”</p><p>And…that feeling was back.</p><p>Something changed in Peggy’s expression, and Clint had the distinct impression that she knew exactly what Clint was experiencing and was amused by it.  It had him wondering if she had the mental powers that followers of Good sometimes did, and wished he’d learned to block that sort of thing out before that moment.</p><p>“That was never going to happen, even if it hadn’t eventually been called off,” Phil laughed, not seeming to see Clint’s discomfiture.  “Peggy is more like a sister, and she isn’t my type.  Then, later on, she found these two.”  He gestured toward the men.  “Steve Rogers, and James Barnes.  They’ve been inseparable for turns now…” He cocked his head.  “And where’s Sam?  He’s usually hanging around you three.”</p><p>Steve smiled.  Damn, but that man was attractive.  He probably didn’t even realize it.  “He’s still on the <em>Avenger.</em>  We’ll all need to get together and catch up. Daniel was just asking about you the other day…although we all know who he <em>really</em> wanted to ask about.”  He was vastly amused by whoever this Daniel person was, eyes turned sly.</p><p>“Peggy is Captain of the <em>Avenger</em>.”  Phil pointed toward the warship.  From the angle they were at, Clint could see the name of the vessel written in fancy lettering on the bow.  The figurehead was of a winged woman, with a sword upraised.  “Steve and James are her First and Second Mates, respectively…both in a work way <em>and</em> a romantic way.”</p><p>And that feeling was gone again.  <em>Damnit</em>.</p><p>“And Sam Wilson is our ship’s weatherwitch, but Phil is blowing his presence around us out of proportion,” First Mate Steve added.  He turned back to Phil.  “How long are you in port for, Phil?”</p><p>“I’m not sure.  I need to take Clint, here, to meet with Nick.  I’ll know more tonight.”</p><p>“Come back to the <em>Avenger</em> after, and we’ll have tea and catch up.”  Captain Peggy was looking at Clint askance, as if she were trying to take his measure.  “Bring your new friend, if he’s amenable.”  Her eyes were twinkling, as if she knew the best secret in the world.</p><p>“It will depend on what this Nick Fury wants with me,” the archer demurred.  “I still have no idea what that is.”</p><p>Second Mate James rolled his eyes.  “That sounds like Fury…always playing his cards close to his chest.”</p><p>Well, Clint could respect someone who knew how to keep secrets…but when they were secrets concerning him…</p><p>First Mate Steve must have done something to attract Lucky’s attention, because the dog had wandered over to the man and was eating up the attention that he was getting.  Honestly, that dog was such an attention whore…it was a miracle that Clint hadn’t lost him already to someone who lavished him with that sort of thing.  Like Daisy, really.  And about another dozen people he’d met over the turns.</p><p>As he watched, Lucky ambled over to the second mate, and James Barnes gave him a side-eye before bowing to the inevitable and scratching the dog on the head.  Steve looked amused by it, as did Captain Peggy. </p><p>“That’s Lucky,” Clint introduced with a sigh. “If he’s bothering you, just tell him.  He’ll stop.”</p><p>“No,” the second mate denied, “it’s just that…I’m not used to animals just coming up to me like that.  It doesn’t happen all that often.”</p><p>The archer could understand that.  Someone who was a Master of Death unconsciously put out ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes, and it was hard to miss the dangerousness of such a person.  “Lucky knows good people,” he shrugged as an explanation.</p><p>That earned him a wide smile from Steve, and a slightly smaller one – yet just as pleased – from the Captain of the <em>Avenger</em>.  Clint got the feeling that James wasn’t usually described as ‘good people’ by strangers.</p><p>There was a little more small talk, Lucky letting Captain Peggy give her own attention to him, and then Phil was leading Clint away, saying their farewells as they left the three of them behind on the docks.  The Aalveyn had been right about the location of the stables; but then, this was obviously the man’s home port, and would know his way around. </p><p>That was pushed home when Phil was greeted effusively by the man at the stables, leading two horses out for them to use.  The saddles were well-worn but lovingly taken care of by the Druid who ran the stables, and Phil thanked him politely, then swung himself up on the saddle.  Clint followed suit, letting the Aalveyn lead the way into the town of Cayside.</p><p>They turned left onto the main road.  It was a wide thoroughfare, lined with various shops as well as a tavern and a large building that was some sort of boarding house.  The structures butted up against each other, not leaving room for any sort of pathways between them except for certain intervals, and the archer figured that was how goods got delivered around to the backs of the various shops and eating establishments.  There were also bins along those alleys, and it looked as if the residents were proud enough to keep their town clean. </p><p>There were walkways that ran along the fronts of the buildings, on each side of the street, people heading to their destinations along them leaving the road clear for horses and carriages and wagons.  Much like in any other fair-sized towns, traffic was orderly and kept to their own side of the street, the dirt graded and smooth under the pressure of wheels and hooves. </p><p>Someone had had the idea of planting trees along the sides of the road in decorative planters, wood painted bright colors, positioned out of the way of the pedestrians.  It gave Cayside a friendly air, one that Clint approved of.  Too many cities and towns were austere, and really needed the brightening up.  Whoever had decided to do it there in Cayside needed to give lessons in how to do it to other city planners, in his opinion.</p><p>The residents of Cayside were a mixture of gifts, judging from their auras.  As Clint rode along beside Phil, he let his sight give him a perspective on the people that so many didn’t have access to; all of the Deities were represented…no, that wasn’t right.  As far as the mercenary could tell, there were no devotees of Evil in the mix, which was unusual.  In any population, there had to be a few, but in Cayside…there was no one that Clint could see.  And that sickly yellow aura wasn’t something that was easily missed. </p><p>No, Evil just wasn’t there, or else it was somewhere he couldn’t see, which was possible. And Clint couldn’t even ask about it, because that was one thing he hadn’t confided to Phil, was his ability to see things that were hidden from everyone else.  He’d shared that his eyesight was extraordinary, but not that part of it. </p><p>Oh, it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Phil.  Much to Clint’s surprise – and after their rocky start – he’d found that the Aalveyn was someone he easily trusted, and that didn’t occur all that often for him; it came from being able to <em>see</em> things that others couldn’t and, while he wasn’t a lie detector, he was like Lucky in that he usually could tell when someone was a good person.  And there was something about Phillipjaraynan’coulson that practically shouted ‘trustworthy’ to the archer.</p><p>That hadn’t meant he would be giving up all his secrets, though.  And, from the little he managed to gather about the Tal’endi, it was practically taboo to discuss their wings.  There was no way he was going to make Phil mad at him if he could avoid it.</p><p>They rode at a leisurely pace through the town, Clint taking the opportunity to get the lay of the land, as it were.  He had no idea what he was actually riding <em>into</em>, and he would need some sort of escape route if things went sour.  Not that he expected it to; Phil and his crew had saved his life, after all, and he very much doubted that they’d have brought him all this way just to betray him to some shadowy figure who wanted to kill him.  Besides, he was on an island in the middle of the ocean, and there was no way he could have gotten off without help.  He was effectively trapped, and it was the same realization that he’d come to when he first awakened onboard <em>Lola’s Dream.</em>  He’d come to believe that the crew on the ship hadn’t meant him any harm, so he had to believe that Phil wouldn’t be leading him into some sort of trap.</p><p>Eventually, they left the town proper, heading out into the countryside that surrounded Cayside.  There were the residences, spaced a fair distance apart, many of them a single story but dotted here and there were two-story structures, constructed of stone and wood and looking very domestic.   It sent a small pang through the mercenary; he’d grown up in a house like these back in Waverlyn, with his foster parents. He’d been happy for the most part, only the nightmares he’d had every once in a while had bothered him…even though he couldn’t recall anything about them. </p><p>However, when he’d reached seventeen turns, he’d left the house that had been his home for long, and he hadn’t really ever been back.  He’d loved his foster parents, but there had always felt as if something was off, and he’d never been able to put a name to that feeling.  And, to be honest, they hadn’t really understood him, tried to mold him into something he wasn’t.  It wasn’t their fault, really.  It was just that Clint was never going to fit within whatever plan they’d had for him, and it had been best that he leave as soon as he was able to do so.</p><p>After that, he’d made his own way, first with a traveling circus and then as a mercenary.  It had been a life more suited to him, but even then he hadn’t quite fit.  Still, it had been a good life, one that he was never going to regret. </p><p>Phil led him up the road even further, past the homes, past the happy families that lived there, and toward a house that was set a little back from the road and which had one of the few fences he’d seen so far.  It was also one of the rare two-story homes, painted a pale cream with dark blue shutters on large front windows, which were open to let in the sea breeze that permeated even this far into the island’s interior.  A tall tree shaded the front garden, a fine specimen of an <em>Adamas</em> tree, its silvery bark glittering in the sunlight and its dark green leaves casting shadows over plants that had been put there because they could survive in the perpetual gloom underneath.</p><p>His guide stopped his horse in front of an ornate brass hitching post outside of the gate, dismounting and tying the horse up.  Clint followed suit and, with Lucky trotting beside him, accompanied Phil through the wrought iron gate and onto the stone pathway that led to the house’s front stoop.  It was covered, and Clint had to blink a little to clear his eyes once they were out of the sun, which he did so as Phil knocked on the blue-painted wood. </p><p>Within ticks, the door was flung open, revealing a man who wasn’t overly tall but had such a presence that Clint found himself almost taking a step back.  He was dark-skinned with a shaven head, and a patch over his left eye.  He was dressed all in black; the only thing missing was a dramatic-looking cloak swirling about his legs, but the archer was pretty certain this was the type of man to have something like that tucked away somewhere. </p><p>His aura was a deep, rich shadowy brown-black, and was as equally powerful-looking as his physical presence was.  So, a follower of Darkness, like Clint himself was.  That made sense, if the man liked keeping things to himself as others has inferred so far.</p><p>Because he was willing to bet this was the enigmatic Nick Fury that had asked Phil to come and find him.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Phil took Clint into town, happy to show off the place he now called home.</p><p>Cayside certainly wasn’t the first place he’d settled in since leaving Aal’valla.  After all, that had been a little over four hundred turns ago, and no one could stay in the same place that long…well, of course he knew some elders back in Aal’valla that had never once moved in the thousands of turns they’d been alive, but then all the clans had their own residences so there was no real need to leave.</p><p>Phil, though, had been different, and had felt the need to move every so often, as if he had a case of wanderlust that only showed up every once in a while.  It had been meeting Nick that had brought him to Cayside, having been introduced to him by a business contact on one of the trading trips he’d been on and then being sucked into Nick’s rather magnetic orbit.  <em>Lola’s Dream </em>had given him a home as well but, at the same time, there was also land on which to plant his feet during those times he wasn’t at sea even though he would always feel more at home on his own ship.</p><p>There were good people here.  Phil had a lot of acquaintances, but most of his friends – his family – were on the <em>Dream</em>.  They weren’t the first crew he’d ever had, since he’d had his ship for longer than most of them had been alive, but they would always be special to him.  And certainly, there was Peggy and Steve, James and Sam, but they didn’t see each other as much as Phil would have liked.  And Wanda and Pietro had been with him for so long, had agreed with him about to the island to take up residence in his back yard.  He had others in town that he was friendly with, as well as other people on the <em>Avenger. </em>Of course, Nick was his oldest Human friend, the one who’d convinced him to settle on Zephyr Cay, and to become what Melinda still insisted on calling Nick’s spymaster. </p><p>Back then, Nick had traveled almost as much as Phil had, until something had happened and Nick had stopped.  In fact, they’d met in Morgantown, all those turns ago.  It had been serendipity – or an act of Chaos – that had had a certain ship’s captain taking on that certain passenger, who’d been on his way out to the Cay, that had led to a pretty solid friendship and to Phil finding a home on the island.  At the time, Wanda and Pietro had been traveling with him, but they’d been getting too large for the <em>Dream</em>. Phil had been searching for a home port where he could settle his Dragon children, where they would be safe and have people who would look out for them when he was gone.</p><p>And he’d found one. </p><p>He also had family outside the Cay; there was Pepper, living in Waverlyn, and to be honest Phil was becoming a little afraid for her safety as the kingdom became more and more unsettled.  She’d followed him when he’d finally left Aal’valla, and once they’d met up again afterward they’d traveled together for a while before their paths forked.  He missed her, but managed to stop in and see her whenever he had the chance.  She was his favorite cousin, after all.  And he also knew that Wanda and Pietro missed her too, as did Peggy. </p><p>Maybe it was time to go for another visit, although getting both young Dragons onto the <em>Dream</em> was going to be tricky.  They might still be children, but they were growing bigger every turn. </p><p>Maybe he could take Clint with him. </p><p>Or not.</p><p>He couldn’t kid himself about his feelings for the hunter.  He’d done his best to keep them to himself, to put the same sort of distance between him and Clint that he did the rest of his crew.  He was Human, but he was different from anyone he’d ever considered taking as a lover.  Phil understood that he could very well fall in love with the man, and that was something he couldn’t afford to do.  He wasn’t that strong, to face the heartbreak losing him could bring.  The Aalveyn had had enough heartbreak in his life to court any more.</p><p>He wasn’t at all like Peggy, who’d taken <em>two</em> Human lovers.  She was going to have double the heartbreak when Steve and James eventually went home to the Havens.  He just couldn’t understand how she could do it.  He just didn’t have her bravery.</p><p>At least Pepper hadn’t gone that route, in taking a shorter-lived lover.  She was still single and, while he’d had some concerns about her relationship with Lord Tony, it hadn’t gone beyond friendship.  His young cousin was being infinitely sensible, he thought.</p><p>Phil put all of that from his mind.  He needed to get Clint to Nick, and then they could find out just what made the hunter so important that Nick had offered to pay for any expenses the crew might accrue, plus a fair wage, and why there had been a royal warrant out for the hunter’s arrest.  Because he believed Clint when he said he’d done nothing wrong to have such a warrant sworn out for him.  There was something going on, and Phil was willing to bet his wings that it was going to change their lives in ways he couldn’t even guess. </p><p>Not that he’d miss his wings if he was wrong.</p><p>Nick’s house was just outside of Cayside.  Phil had spent quite a lot of time here, considering it a second home.  His own place was nearer the docks, a two story place that he kept open for any member of his crew who needed a place to stay.  It was more often than not Daisy, since she’d unofficially adopted him as her parental figure.  It was fine with the Aalveyn, because it also meant that Daisy’s friends also came by.  That included Jemma and Leo, as well as a couple who lived in town: Grant Ward was one, and Lincoln Campbell, as well as Robbie Reyes. </p><p>To be honest, Phil hadn’t trusted Grant at first.  However, Carol and Maria let him babysit their little girl, and Daisy liked him, so Phil was perfectly fine with their friendship, not that he really had any say in the matter. Grant had also come clean about his family and why he’d left Triskelia, and the nature of his gifts.  Phil had been a little horrified by those gifts, but he’d believed Grant when he said he just wanted to get a fresh start away from the expectations of his father and his brother, and the accusations that had managed to follow him to the Cay despite his best efforts.  It helped that no one believed those accusations and were willing to set whoever happened to be spreading them at the time straight.</p><p>His own home also had a very large back yard area, because Wanda and Pietro also stayed there when he was on Zephyr Cay…and when he wasn’t, really.  The Dragon twins might have been smaller than most of their kin due to their young age, but they were still rather large.  And Phil loved having them there, to keep him company and so he wouldn’t feel alone.</p><p>He dismounted outside Nick’s house, tying his horse up to the rather gaudy hitching post.  Clint did the same and, with Lucky accompanying them, the captain led them up to the front door, where he knocked. </p><p>It wasn’t long before the door was flung open, and there stood Nick Fury in all his dramatic glory.  It was too bad Clint wasn’t seeing him in his usual black cloak, but then he didn’t wear it when he was home.</p><p>His friend’s usually stern face broke into a wide grin.  “Damn, Phil!  I wasn’t expecting you to locate him so fast!”  He stepped away, allowing them to enter the house.</p><p>“That was purely luck on our side,” Phil commented dryly as he waved Clint in first. </p><p>Clint’s eyes were taking in the house even as he was putting his feet over the threshold.  The house hadn’t changed much, but then Phil hadn’t been gone but a little over a four-ten.  The front hall was still light and airy, completely at odds with the lingering shadows underneath the stairs, where Nick had set up his altar to his Deity.  Because he was of Light, Phil could sense the power coming from that altar, which also pointed toward the fact that Darkness really wasn’t dead, like some rumors claimed, and that Nick was a fairly powerful Priest. </p><p>He knew exactly when Clint noticed it.  The hunter’s eyes widened a little, and there was a glint in them that Phil had seen a couple of times over the days they’d spent together.  Clint hadn’t exactly been forthright about his gifts, not that Phil could blame him.  After all, he hadn’t said a thing about his wings, and that was going to remain the way of it.  He would be a hypocrite if he went prying but didn’t share his own secrets.</p><p>The Aalveyn already had suspicions that Clint did know about his wings, but wasn’t mentioning it.  For which Phil was grateful.  He’d received enough indoctrination as a child, that revealing his wings was taboo, and a sign that he wasn’t fully Aalveyn.  Despite them being a gift from Light, the wings had become a sign of shame, and Phil didn’t need the ridicule such a secret would bring.</p><p>Nick waved them further into the house.  “Come on into the study and tell me all about it.”</p><p>Phil had been in his friend’s study many times.  It was a comfortable room, the chairs overstuffed and the couch large and sprawling.  Nick’s desk was an enormous thing, stained almost black, and the seat behind it was as overstuffed as the chairs on the other side of it.</p><p>He’d once teased Nick about being a hedonist, to which his friend had replied with a long, curse-filled rant that had Phil laughing at the overwrought denial at such an accusation.</p><p>Phil took the chair he usually did when visiting; the one on the right, in front of the desk, while Clint settled into the other one close by, with Lucky curled up at his feet.  Nick made his way to the drinks cabinet, speaking while he poured them each a glass of the Waverlyn whiskey the man was fond of.  “I wasn’t prepared for a canine visitor,” he drawled as he worked.</p><p>Lucky huffed, not bothering to raise his head.  Phil, who had been exposed to the dog’s presence long enough and could hear the disgust in that sound, barely managed to hide the amused grin.  Lucky, as well as his companion, had both been revelations, even if the Aalveyn wasn’t going to examine the ones about Clint too closely.  Lucky was intelligent, and there were times when it was obvious just what the dog was thinking.</p><p>Nick passed the glasses around, then took the leather chair behind the desk, sipping his own drink.  Phil joined him, although he wasn’t quite as fond of the heavy spirits as his friend was. It burned as it went down, and then a pleasant warmth spreading up from his stomach and into his chest.  It was really quite good, although it wasn’t exactly his cup of tea, so to speak.</p><p>In the corner of his eye, he wanted as Clint took a not so subtle sniff of his glass, nodding vaguely then taking his own sip.</p><p>“Clint,” Phil began, “this is Nick Fury.  He’s the one who sent me to find you.”</p><p>“And,” Fury reiterated, “I didn’t expect you to find him that fast.”</p><p>“As I said, luck was on our side.”</p><p>Phil went into detail about how Clint had practically stumbled into his lap; about the attack on the docks practically right in front of the <em>Dream</em>’s berth, and how they’d brought him on board.  It really had been Chaos on their side for once, bringing Clint to them, before he could be taken into custody on that warrant, which Phil was certain had been made up. </p><p>Fury was shaking his head as Phil finished things up.  “And you say these bounty hunters claimed to have a valid warrant from the Crown?”</p><p>The Aalveyn nodded.  “Exactly.”</p><p>“I have no idea why they’d be looking for me,” Clint interjected, sounding somewhat defensive.  “I’d gotten back from a job that had gone really well so I was taking a bit of a break, and I hadn’t broken any laws…”  He shrugged. </p><p>The Aalveyn wanted to reassure him, that they believed him, but he wasn’t sure it would do much good.  He’d said it several times over the voyage to Cayside, and he could see that Clint had taken his word for it, but this was a stranger who was asking this time.</p><p>“Things are progressing faster than I’d thought they would.”  Fury looked pensive.  He reached into one of the desk’s drawers, pulling out a slip of paper. “Phil, take this.  Ask the ones on this list to be here in two marks.  We have a lot to talk about.  And I have a few things Master Barton here needs to know before that.”</p><p>Phil glanced at Clint, and then back to Fury, accepting the note and glancing down at it.  In Nick’s rather spidery handwriting were familiar names: Peggy, Steve, James, and Sam; Melinda and Andrew; Isabelle Hartley and Victoria Hand; Carol Danvers; Jasper Sitwell.  All were Nick’s confidantes, and all would come when Phil told them there was a meeting and that Nick was calling it.</p><p>Each and every one of them knew that Nick carried secrets, secrets that he’d never shared with anyone.  Yes, there had been speculation, since it was obvious that Nick was a person of power, and yet he was hiding that power behind the façade of the grumpy priest who held the services for Darkness every tenday up at the Cathedral.   To Phil, as a being of Light, his friend’s Darkness was deep, and there was a closeness to the Deity that belied any sorts of story of Darkness’ destruction…even though the Aalveyn could certainly tell that there was imbalance between the two opposites, that Light had gained strength over Darkness’ waning.  It was a mystery, one that Phil was fairly certain Nick knew the answer to. </p><p>They’d done a lot of speculating over the turns, especially after Nick had sent one of them out on another of his ‘errands’, but the Aalveyn doubted any theory that he and the others had come up would even come close to the truth. </p><p>However, with the coming of Clint Barton…oh, Phil certainly wasn’t a seer by any stretch of the imagination, but he could feel things were coming to a head. He had no idea why the hunter was needed, or why he was so important, but he suspected they would discover that during this meeting tonight. </p><p>He glanced over at Clint, and there was an expression in the hunter’s eyes…he could tell that Clint wanted him to stay.  That, whatever Nick was about to tell him, wasn’t something he wanted to hear alone. </p><p>And Phil was so close to saying he would, indeed, stay…</p><p>“Phil.”</p><p>He turned at the tone in Nick’s voice.  It was almost pleading, and Nick Fury didn’t beg.  Nick Fury was a strong motherfucker who could kick the ass of anyone who tried anything with him. </p><p>It was another reason for Phil to stay, but he knew he couldn’t.  Not with Nick sounding like that.  “Alright,” he conceded, pretending he hadn’t been able to interpret the look he’d been sent.  He stood, setting his glass on the desk, its contents not completely gone.  “In two marks.” </p><p>Deities, but he hated leaving Clint to face this alone.  Because this obviously wasn’t a job offer.  It was something more profound, and Phil didn’t have the gifts to delve any deeper.  He would most likely discover what it was tonight, but until then he would be unable to support Clint in any way.</p><p>As he left the room, it occurred to him that, despite his assumption to the contrary, it might already be too late to keep himself from falling for the oh-so Human hunter.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Clint watched as Phil left the room, listening as the front door of the house closed behind the Aalveyn.</p><p>A part of him felt a little betrayed at being abandoned by the man he’d been thinking of as a friend, if not more than that.</p><p>But, at the same time, he hadn’t exactly spoken up and asked Phil to stay.  It wasn’t as if the Aalveyn was a follower of Good, after all.  He wasn’t able to read minds, no matter how loud that mind was shouting at him to stay with him.  So, he couldn’t exactly blame him for leaving. </p><p>He suddenly hadn’t wanted to be alone with Fury; his instincts were telling him that what he was going to tell Clint would irrevocably change the mercenary’s life forever.  This wasn’t about a job offer, of that he was certain.  There were secrets here, secrets about Clint himself, and they were about to come out.  It was as clear as the shadows about the man himself…he was powerful, more powerful than anyone he’d ever met before.  He was highly in Darkness’ favor, something Clint would never be able to brag about, if the nature of the man’s shrine in the hallway was any indication.</p><p>Clint had always been pretty ordinary.  Sure, he had skills that were gifted to him by Darkness, but then everyone in the world had some sort of ability that they’d been blessed with by one of the Deities, some stronger and some weaker than others.  So, his weren’t anything special in the grand scheme of things, at least as far as he could tell.  He’d lived a life that had been…well, not <em>boring</em>, actually.  But it hadn’t been extraordinary, in any way.  He’d been a performer in a circus, now was a mercenary, an archer, someone that could be hired for the right amount of money.  This had been his life for a little over seventeen turns. </p><p>And yet, he just <em>knew</em> that this was about to change.</p><p>He had wanted to reach out and clasp Phil’s hand, to keep him there.  But he hadn’t dared do that.  That was a familiarity that he hadn’t been afforded.  They were friends…at least Clint believed they were, he was positive of that.  And the archer had certain…feelings…that he didn’t like to think about for the Aalveyn.  They’d only known each other for two tendays, and that wasn’t enough time to even <em>begin</em> to talk about emotions and commitment…</p><p>And where had that come from?  Commitment?</p><p>What?</p><p>What the <em>Havens</em>?</p><p>He pushed that down <em>hard</em>.  Clint didn’t do commitment, unless it was to whoever had hired him, and for the length of time it took to do whatever job he’d taken.  Sure, he’d had…encounters, before, but none had lasted more than the time he was in a certain town.  Nothing long term.</p><p>And Phil certainly hadn’t given any sign that he was any different.  In fact, he’d gone out of his way to keep an emotional distance, and Clint would have been a little insulted by that if he hadn’t seen for himself that the Aalveyn was like that about <em>everyone</em>.</p><p>And yet, wasn’t that what he’d just thought?  After only two tendays?</p><p>Deities, what was he <em>even</em>…?</p><p>No, he couldn’t allow himself to become distracted.  He would listen, and then tell Fury to fuck off and leave him alone.  He didn’t owe the man anything.</p><p>Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t spill it all to Phil later on, if just to have a good laugh at the whole thing.  Unless Fury gave him a really good reason not to, which he couldn’t see happening. Despite his inconvenient bout of feelings for the Aalveyn, Clint knew he could trust Phil, that he truly was a friend. </p><p>Even if he’d brought Clint to this place to begin with.  But then, Phil hadn’t known what Fury was up to, and why he’d wanted Clint; he’d just done as asked, because Fury was his friend.</p><p>He supposed he should give the priest a chance, if just for that little fact, that Phil liked and trusted Fury.</p><p>He didn’t have to like it, though.</p><p>Lucky, as if sensing Clint’s discomfort with the entire situation, got up and rested his head on the mercenary’s knee.  With his free hand, Clint rubbed behind the dog’s ears, and Lucky sighed with contentment. </p><p>Fury was regarding Clint closely, as if he were seeing into his very soul.  Maybe he was, if what Clint was reading from his aura was correct.  This was a man who was highly in Darkness’ favor, and the archer’s small gifts would be nothing against his.</p><p>And so, he sat back in his chair, pretended to be perfectly calm, taking a sip of what was left of the excellent whiskey he’d been given, even as his heart was beginning to race in that unmistakable feeling of wanting to run out the door, fleeing so he wouldn’t hear a damned thing the man wanted to say.</p><p>Oh, he wasn’t fooling Fury at all.  He could tell by the knowing expression in the man’s single eye.</p><p>Fury leaned back in his own chair.  “You’re a relatively well-traveled mercenary,” he began, “and, if I’m not mistaken, far more observant than a lot of people give you credit for.”</p><p>Clint pretended he wasn’t preening at the compliment.</p><p>Yes, still wasn’t fooling Fury.</p><p>“Just what do you make of the political situation in Waverlyn?”</p><p>The archer was thrown a little by the question.  He didn’t bother to hide it, but figured Fury would know he was confused anyway.  “Well,” he considered, “everything seemed alright until about ten turns ago, when King Charles’ only son was found dead under mysterious circumstances.  I’ve heard all sorts of rumors, everything from suicide to murder, but who knows?  The King isn’t talking, and the Queen killed herself not that long after the son died.  After that, though…well, I think it’s fair to say that King Charles has been going slowly down the slippery slope of insanity ever since, and it’s affecting the kingdom.  Higher taxes…people being arrested on flimsy charges…and the roads just aren’t safe anymore.”</p><p>Fury raised a single eyebrow.  “Seven deathstrikes, huh?”</p><p>Clint shrugged.  “I was protecting the caravan, doing what I was hired to do.”  He was a little tired of stating the obvious, even if he’d gotten a really large bonus for it, too, but he didn’t think he needed to mention that part of it.  Not that he thought Fury was going to rob him, but he’d earned that money and didn’t think he needed to share that he had it or justify accepting it in the first place.</p><p>“That’s a pretty succinct way of putting what’s a fucking complicated political climate in Waverlyn,” Fury went back to the previous subject.  “But, what you might not be aware of are the behind-the-scenes shit that’s been going on.”</p><p>The mercenary frowned.  He wasn’t sure just why that was relevant to him, but he really didn’t have a choice but to listen. Oh, he was sure he could walk out the door and not be stopped, and he was also sure he could ask Phil for a ride back to Waverlyn and he’d get it…not that he really <em>could</em> go back, not with this bogus warrant out against him.  But his curiosity wouldn’t let him leave his seat, despite his own instincts telling him to tell Fury to go screw himself and leave. </p><p>He’d always been too curious for his own good.  It was part and parcel with having the gifts from Darkness…secrets were also her purview, and that meant the archer had that urge to gain as many secrets as he could. </p><p>It was a damned good thing he was as good at keeping them as he was at ferreting them out.</p><p>Fury leaned back, holding his glass in both hands, rolling it between nimble fingers.  “Thirty turns ago, the entire royal family was murdered and the original Waverlyn Castle razed to the ground by a Dragon.”</p><p>Clint barely kept himself from rolling his eyes.  “That’s common knowledge.” Everyone knew about that; King Harold, Queen Edith, the Crown Prince Francis, and the entirety of the royal court had been lost in the attack by Garrett the Red, who’d somehow made a pact with the Lord of the Chitauri, Loki Laufeyson.  The current King, Charles, had actually been an illegitimate son of the King, and had only come to power because there hadn’t been anyone else to take control. </p><p>Fury didn’t react to Clint’s obvious sarcasm.  “What no one else knows, is that the bastard, Charles, was actually the one behind the attack.”</p><p>That had the hunter sitting up.  The King?  He’d can’t have been a legal adult back then…and yet Fury was telling him that a <em>boy</em> had plotted the downfall of the rulers of Waverlyn?  That he’d made agreements with a Dragon and a bunch of demons, and had had the entire royal family butchered?</p><p>His disbelief must have shown on his face, because Fury scoffed, “It’s that hard to believe?”</p><p>Clint blinked. There was something in the other man’s expression, a darkness that nothing to do with the Goddess he worshipped, that had the mercenary taking a mental step backwards.  “You’ll have to excuse me, but that just seems a little far-fetched.”</p><p>Fury nodded.  “Yes, I can see where you’d think so.  Charles was just a kid at the time.  However, what if I told you I was a witness to the attack?” </p><p>Any and all pretense of superiority was gone from the priest’s face, leaving behind shadows of old pain.  He’d certainly been a witness to <em>something</em> horrible, that was apparent, but an actual survivor of the Massacre?  This wasn’t an attempt to fool him, or convince him of something that simply wasn’t true for nefarious purposes.  The openness on Fury’s face made it obvious he was, indeed, speaking the truth.</p><p>“I lost my eye in my escape from the crumbling castle,” Fury went on, his hand moving unconsciously to the patch over his ruined eye; there were scars around the socket, radiating out from under the leather covering.  They looked suspiciously like claw marks, and Clint wondered if he’d been slashed by one of the Chitauri.  The hunter had only seen the monsters once, and at a distance, but they’d had talons that could do that sort of damage.</p><p>If he was telling the truth, of course.  Clint wasn’t quite ready to believe him just yet.</p><p>“I was sixteen turns,” Fury said softly, “Acolyte to Queen Edith.  Deities, my parents were so proud of me…they don’t even know I’m alive.  They think I died that night, but I couldn’t risk them getting hurt, not after my Mistress gave me my mission, on behalf of Darkness herself.”</p><p>That…Clint had no words.</p><p>He’d always been aware that he had been a foundling, that he’d been taken in as a child and fostered, but he’d never been officially adopted.  His foster parents had been good to him, but he’d felt he’d never belonged on that farm, and had left the moment he’d been able to do.  But, at least they knew, vaguely, that he was still alive, or at least had to assume he was.  Fury’s birth parents hadn’t even had that peace of mind, having been led to believe that the child they’d been so very proud of was gone, murdered along with the rest of the residents of Waverlyn Castle. </p><p>Just what had that cost the man sitting opposite him?  To let the people who would have loved him despite everything think he was dead?  Clint would have given <em>anything</em> to know his parents, to understand why they’d left him wherever it was that he’d been fostered from.  Fury had basically turned his back on his own, just because the Queen of Waverlyn had given him some sort of mission.  He’d been a kid, for Deities’ sake!  How could she have done that to a <em>kid</em>?</p><p>And Darkness somehow been involved as well!  After all, Queen Edith had been a High Priest.  This had to have been some sort of directive from the Deity, through the now-dead Queen.</p><p>He found himself feeling just a bit outraged by it all.  Clint had never considered himself devout, but then his gifts were tiny things, not like what Nick Fury had on hand.  That altar in the hallway alone had been so very powerful that it had actually hurt to look at it for very long.  If that was what ultimate loyalty to one of the Twelve did to someone, made them leave everything behind just because they asked, then the hunter didn’t want anything to do with any of them. </p><p>How <em>dare</em> they?  How dare the Queen and Darkness do that to a child!  It was outrageous, and Clint found himself clutching his glass so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t shatter under his fingers.  That had been uncalled for, and all the hunter could think was that Fury had given everything up just because he was a priest of the Deity, and she’d asked.  That sort of power over a person was <em>obscene</em>.</p><p>Lucky, as if sensing his anger and distress, whined piteously and nuzzled his snout against Clint’s knee.  Unconsciously, he rubbed his companion’s head, although he had no idea if he was trying to comfort Lucky, or himself.  It was a toss-up.  But he thought it might have been a little bit of both.</p><p>He managed to glance up at Fury, and the surprise he saw in the other’s single eye had his own eyes widening.  “What, you didn’t expect me to get mad on your behalf?” It came out half sarcastic, half curious, because he couldn’t make up his mind how he felt.   That Fury hadn’t expected him to be angry at what the Deity had demanded he do, through his Queen…Clint just didn’t get it.  No one should have that much control over someone’s life, not even one of the Deities.</p><p>“I did what I had to do, Barton,” Fury finally answered.  “Sure, I regret a few things, but if you’d seen what had gone on in that castle…and knew you could do something about it, if only you had the patience and the power, then I’d like to think you’d have gone along with it, too.”</p><p>“Well, as I don’t have either, I guess we’ll never know.”  Clint was obfuscating just a bit; he had patience when he needed it, as being a hunter required it.  But the power…no, that he didn’t have.  He was a product of Darkness’ waning and, even if that sort of gift <em>was</em> offered to him, he sincerely doubted he’d accept.  It wasn’t worth the pain and aggravation, and he simply wasn’t made for that sort of greatness.  Nor did he feel he was competent enough to do some sort of task that had him cutting himself off from anyone he cared about.  Because, while he’d never really been back home since he’d left it, he still had the <em>choice</em> to do it, if he wanted to.  Fury didn’t have that choice at all.</p><p>Fury shook his head.  “Oh, Barton…if only you knew.  You have no idea just how powerful you are.  You play around at being a mercenary, with your bow and your dog…but you’re so much more than that, and you don’t have any fucking clue.” </p><p>Clint would have been furious at the man for those comments, if it wasn’t for the fact that Fury looked just so damned sad about it all.  He was judging Clint’s choices, and that should have had him raging…but for some reason, if didn’t.  He just felt tired, and he stood, putting his glass down on the desk.  “If you’re done insulting me, I should really just leave before I say something we’re both going to regret.” Not that he was.  Because there really wasn’t anything to say.</p><p>The thing was, Fury was wrong about him.  Oh, not about the mercenary part – although he was as far from playing as anyone could possibly get – but about the thing with his gifts.  He understood <em>exactly</em> how powerful he was…and it wasn’t very.  Sure, he could see things that most people couldn’t when he put his mind to it, and he had perfect aim, but that was it.  There was no more.  He couldn’t even talk to Lucky, although the dog certainly made himself understandable despite all that.  Clint had long ago realized his own worth, and it wasn’t much.  He was ordinary, and didn’t mind it at all.</p><p>“We’re not done yet, Barton,” Fury claimed as he was walking away.</p><p>“I think you’ve said all that needed to be said.” </p><p>Lucky following, Clint was out in the front hall and halfway to the door before Fury called him back.  “There’s still more you need to know.”</p><p>Despite himself, the hunter turned.  “Look, I’m sorry for what’s been done to you, but it’s nothing to do with me.  It must have been horrific, being in a castle that was being torn down around you, and all that death going on…I truly <em>am</em> sorry.  But as I said, it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”  He clicked his tongue and Lucky joined him.</p><p>“It has <em>everything</em> to do with you, Clint Barton.”  Fury stood in the doorway to the study, looking at him closely, his eye even darker than before, filled with portents that frankly scared the archer.  “Because, what you don’t know, is that you’re a survivor of the Massacre as well.” He took a step forward.  “Haven’t you ever wondered what really happened to your real parents?”</p><p>He had.  Of course he had.  That was only natural, and Clint said so out loud.</p><p>But…a survivor of the attack on Waverlyn Castle?  That was impossible!  He was an orphan, and foundling, and that was it.</p><p>“You were three turns old,” Fury continued inexorably.  “We did everything we could to keep you from seeing a lot of what happened, not sure we succeeded, but you were young enough I doubt you remember any of it.”</p><p><em>The nightmares</em>.</p><p>He’d had the nightmares since for as long as he could recall.  He could never remember what they were about after he’d woke up, only that they were horrific and they felt as real as night terrors could feel. </p><p>Even now, faced with the reality that there was a true reason for the nightmares…Deities, had he really been there?  Had he been a witness to all that death and destructions, and yet his child mind hadn’t been able to comprehend what he’d seen? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Blood.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>There’d been blood everywhere, copious amounts of it, staining the walls and the floor and he’d tucked his head into the shoulder of whoever had been carrying him, so he wouldn’t have to see it any longer. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Screams.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>He hadn’t been able to block out the screaming, though.  It had been terrifying, because he just couldn’t comprehend what it all meant, only that it was bad and there shouldn’t be all that </em>screaming<em>.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fire.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>The very air was so hot it stung his bare skin.  It dripped onto his nightshirt, and whoever was protecting him snuffed it out before it could burn him too badly, and he’d cried because it had still been really painful and he hadn’t </em>understood<em>.</em></p><p> </p><p>“I have a scar,” he whispered, “a burn scar.  My foster mother claimed I’d gotten it when I’d tried to see what was on the stove and pulled down a pan full of scalding water.”</p><p>He stared at Fury, unable to process the flashback.  This was why he could never bring the images of those nightmares back once he’d awakened…he’d been so little, and his child mind hadn’t been able to process all that horror.  It had spilled over into his adult memories, but there still wasn’t that ability to fully deal with them.    </p><p>“Dragonfire was all over the castle,” Fury told him.  “Some of it got blown onto you.  We managed to get it out, but not before you got a burn.”  He stepped forward, touching Clint on the right shoulder blade where the scar sat, a puckered mass still pulled a little when he drew right-handed.  It was one of the reasons he’s learned to use his bow with both hands, although he was predominately a leftie anyway.  “You <em>do</em> remember.”</p><p>“No, not really,” Clint confessed.  “I’ve had…nightmares, for as long as I can recall.  But I can’t remember anything about it when I wake up.  I just…had a flashback…” </p><p>Deities, he felt sick.  His stomach roiled and he had to swallow a couple of times to avoid losing the alcohol he’d just drunk.  If what Fury was saying was true…and he had no reason to doubt, not anymore…then he’d survived the destruction of the castle and the deaths of all those people, thanks to the man who still had his hand on his back, over that lump of scar tissue that his foster mother had lied to him about.</p><p>Which meant, she had to have known as well.  Or at least suspected, since he couldn’t have seen Fury sharing that information with anyone, even the people he’d found to raise a traumatized three turn old child.</p><p>“You keep saying ‘we’,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse.  “Who else?”  He was fully willing to accept that a young Nick Fury had managed to get him out of a full-on battle at this point.  He knew about the scar, and the nightmares were echoes of the very few words he’d said on the subject of the fall of the first Waverlyn Castle. </p><p>“It was me and the woman known as the Queen’s Widow.  She was my Mistress’ bodyguard, but the Queen herself sent her with me in order to protect you.  We almost didn’t make it out.”  He absently touched the eyepatch again. </p><p>“And where is this…Widow person?”  He wanted to thank her, like he should be thanking Nick Fury.  To ask her to verify this story, because his mind still wasn’t quite reconciling what he was being told with Clint’s own view about himself.</p><p>“She’s…not here,” Fury hedged. “I can’t tell you where she is…yet.  That’ll come later, at the meeting I’ve called.”  He took Clint by the elbow, steering him back into the study and pushing him into a chair.  He refilled the glass with a bit more whiskey than the hunter had been drinking before, pushing the drink into his hand.  “I think you need this.”</p><p>“Yeah.”  He took a rather unhealthy swig, almost choking on the strong alcohol.  As he regained his breath, something occurred to him that hadn’t before.  “Wait.  If you were the Queen’s Acolyte, and you were protecting me…and the Queen sent her bodyguard with you…” </p><p>Deities, he didn’t want the answer.  He should never has said that aloud.  He didn’t want Fury to tell him, because Clint was a nobody, wasn’t important, but the Queen’s Acolyte and the Queen’s Widow had been sent with him…</p><p>“I had a feeling you’d put that together.”  Fury looked satisfied, as he perched on the edge of the desk, his arms crossed.  “Clint Barton…you are Crown Prince Francis, the son of King Harold and Queen Edith.  And, to my shame, I lost you turns ago.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Phil almost turned around and went back inside the house twice before he got to his horse.</p><p>The only thing stopping him was his friendship with Nick and the certainty that, whatever he was telling Clint, would be important, and that Clint hadn’t exactly asked him to stay.</p><p>Although, it was a close thing.</p><p>It was time to fully admit to himself that he was somewhat emotionally compromised by a handsome Human archer.</p><p>As he rode back toward the town, Phil berated himself for letting it get that far, and so fast.  While he’d had infatuations in the past with Humans, it had never amounted to anything more than just a simple night together, then it had been over.  The Aalveyn understood that Humans had such a short lifespan – the Deities having learned their lesson after they’d created the Aalveyn – that it simply wasn’t worth it to let one in that far, only to have his heart broken when they eventually died and he lived on.  It simply wasn’t worth it, and Phil was perfectly content with what he had now.</p><p>Yes, he’d long ago realized that the friends he’d gathered around him would die, and he would mourn their passing, but Phil didn’t have the sort of emotional connection to them as he would a long-term lover.  Well, maybe Daisy would be worse since he thought of her as a daughter in many ways, but then she was <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn, and would live longer due to her Aalveyn blood, but she would also pass long before Phil would, barring anything happening to him.  That would be enough heartbreak for him.  He didn’t want to deal with any more.</p><p>The thing was, being Aalveyn and developing relationships with the lesser-lived Races would always be painful in the end.  Phil understood that no one could exist alone, that they needed people around them in order to survive, but that didn’t make it any easier.</p><p>No, he stood by his earlier decision not to pursue Clint, to let what he was feeling become a friendship, albeit one that would fade with time…if Phil had anything to say about it. After all, there was no telling what would happen tomorrow, let alone tonight after this meeting that Nick had called.  He might not ever see the hunter again after that.</p><p>That caused a pang in his chest, but he pushed it away ruthlessly.  He simply couldn’t afford to get attached.</p><p>Putting his mind firmly on the task that Nick had set him, the Aalveyn turned his horse toward the docks.  Most of the people on that list would be there; Peggy, Steve, James, and Sam would be on the <em>Avenger</em>, while Melinda might still be on the <em>Dream </em>if he was lucky.  If not, she would be at her home onshore with her husband, Andrew, and Phil knew exactly where that was.  Jasper was Port Authority for Cayside, with an office on the docks, so Phil could easily stop there when he was done passing the word to his friends on the <em>Avenger</em>…or, he could even presume to ask one of them to contact Jasper for him.</p><p>Izzy and Victoria were the town Peace Officers, which was a funny misnomer as neither of them followed Peace.  And Carol was Captain of the militia of Zephyr Cay, and would be easy to locate once he was done on the docks; she would either be on duty at the tiny garrison just outside Cayside, or at home with her wife, Maria, and their daughter, Monica. He would find them after speaking to the others.  </p><p>The area around the docks was bustling this time of the day.  It certainly wasn’t on par with some of the larger ports Phil had visited, but Cayside wasn’t a small town; it was a crossroads of sorts between Waverlyn and the northern countries of Aal’valla, Sokovia, and Asgard, and so its fair share of vessels from them were often there, stopping long enough to restock and even make their own deliveries to Zephyr Cay. </p><p>Although, in the last few turns, Aalveyn ships were becoming more and more scarce.  Phil’s people were once again falling into self-exile, and from all the signs it was a product of their own prejudice and pride, and their unfavorable vision of the other Races.  Since Waverlyn had, up until about ten turns ago, been one of Marvala’s larger principalities, but with the growing madness of its king Aal’valla was taking a ‘wait and see’ attitude…which was translating into the Clan Council withdrawing the Clans from the rest of the world, even though they would have been planning something like this long before it got so bad in other countries. </p><p>Phil found himself angry about that, because his own people were assholes who should have been helping instead of running away.  Still, he really hadn’t expected anything different, knowing what he knew about Aalveyn politics.</p><p>Phil left his horse at his usual stable, giving a small coin to the boy – he thought his name was Billy – for him to take the animal and give it a good rubdown and some feed.  He joined the workers and other pedestrians on the docks, walking purposely down toward his ship.  He inhaled a deep breath of the sea air, smiling slightly despite his task and his tumultuous emotions.  Being near the sea was comforting to him, despite him not being of the Goddess of Peace.</p><p>The <em>Avenger</em> sat at anchor, just down from <em>Lola’s Dream. </em> The warship was so large it dwarfed his own vessel, making the <em>Dream </em>resemble a toy next to it.  He took the gangplank of the <em>Dream </em>at an almost jog, his steps sure, hoping to find Melinda still on board.</p><p>According to Mack, though, the first mate had already left, which meant she would be home with Andrew.  Phil thanked his second mate and left, ignoring Mack’s concerned expression as he went back down the steps from wheelhouse, where Mack had been working.  Phil was actually a little surprised he was still onboard; he would have thought the other man would have been at his own home by now, with his daughter, Hope.  Perhaps she was in school?  It was certainly the time of day for classes. </p><p>The Aalveyn didn’t think about how Mack had been looking at him.  There must have been something on his face that had communicated some of his turmoil to his friend, and Phil didn’t want to discuss it.  He had other things to do.</p><p>Not that Peggy would let him get away with that sort of thing. </p><p>A trilling chirp caught his attention as his boots hit the deck, and he turned to look upward, where Goose was standing between two spindles of the railing that ran around the edge of the wheelhouse, blinking down at him with pale eyes.  Phil was a little surprised that the Flerken was still there; usually, he was gone whenever they landed on home soil, seeking out either Nick or Carol or any of the others he considered pack. </p><p>Goose trilled at him again and, while the Aalveyn wasn’t anyone who could understand the various sounds that the magical creature used, he certainly could interpret him in this instance.  “Well, come on,” he invited, turning his back toward the Flerken.  “I’m going to the <em>Avenger </em>for a bit, if you’re interested.”</p><p>He felt Goose land lightly on his back, claws catching slightly in his jacket as the Flerken kept himself from falling off.  Goose made himself comfortable, curling up around Phil’s neck, head resting on one shoulder and his legs draped around his throat, tail tickling his cheek.  The Aalveyn smiled; Goose had done the same thing before, riding on a person’s shoulders, and Phil waited until he was fully settled before heading back toward the gangplank.</p><p>It only took a couple of ticks to reach the warship’s own gangplank, a wider affair that actually had a rail on it.  Phil didn’t even bother with the rail, his sure steps taking him up onto the <em>Avenger</em>’s deck, which was fairly deserted with the vessel tied up in port.</p><p>Phil waited at the rail, calling out his presence to whoever was still onboard.  Within a tick, James appeared seemingly from nowhere, the Master of Death being far more stealthy than most people Phil had ever met.</p><p>He didn’t startle, however, used as he was to James’ ways.  “We didn’t expect you quite so soon,” the assassin noted, giving Phil a close look.  “And you brought a…guest.”  He was giving Goose a side-eye, as if expecting the Flerken to do something weird.  He had an…unusual…relationship with the magical creature, dating back to the very first time they’d ever met turns ago.</p><p>Goose greeted him with another chirp then, as Phil tried very hard not to laugh, extended one of his many mouth tentacles and licked James on the cheek, leaving a trail of blue slime in its wake.  At least none of it dripped on the Aalveyn’s own tunic.</p><p>“Ew!” James exclaimed, his hand reaching up by instinct to wipe the slime away, his expression disgusted.  All that did was spread it around, and Phil couldn’t keep the laughter in any longer.  Goose adored James for reasons no one could quite understand, and that little ‘kiss’ wasn’t anything new.  And James’ reaction was hilarious as always. </p><p>Goose took the opportunity to start purring.  He wasn’t technically a feline, but he did certainly act like one, especially when he was feeling very pleased with himself. </p><p>“Everyone’s in Peg’s cabin,” James grumbled, still trying to wipe the slime off.  No one knew what that was, but it was really hard to get off once it stained something.  “I’m gonna go and…wash my face.”  He glared at Goose, and the Flerken was completely unfazed by it.</p><p>Chuckling, the Aalveyn headed toward the hatch that led to belowdecks, stepping through the door in the quarterdeck section of the ship and into the cool gloom within.  Phil knew the <em>Avenger </em>almost as well as he did his own ship, and easily sidestepped the ladder going down to the gundeck below this one, where the cannon would have been tied up to prevent any unnecessary shifting when the vessel wasn’t in a battle. </p><p>On one side of the short corridor were the officer’s quarters, where James and Steve would have had their bunks if they weren’t staying in Peggy’s cabin.  Phil knew that they kept that as quest quarters now; when the <em>Avenger </em>underwent one of the many inspections that Governor Pierce insisted in his ships, it was also made to look as if the two men were still living within that cabin, as it was technically against the rules for the Captain to take a lover within the crew.  And, since Peggy had taken two…it was best to keep that private and away from Pierce’s suspicious ears.</p><p>On the other wall was the door leading to a second set of quarters.  Sam, as the ship’s resident weatherwitch, and the ship’s Pilot, Danielorelynia’sousa, had that cabin, being the other two ranking members of the crew.  Only the Lead Gunner, the eponymously nicknamed Dum Dum Dugan, would have usually been bunked on this level, but the man had chosen to sleep amongst the crew, and closer to his own post.</p><p>His destination was the door at the end, open and inviting, light streaming into the hall from the cabin beyond.  Next to the door was another set of ladders, heading up to what Phil knew was the chartroom, and where the officers met and ate their meals together…when they weren’t sharing the meals with the rest of the crew, in the mess that took up most of the second level, along with the galley.  Peggy was a well-loved Captain, in that she didn’t act as if she was above the others she commanded, and they respected her more for caring for the people assigned to her ship.</p><p>Peggy’s cabin was a bit larger than his was on the <em>Dream </em>yet it had smaller windows and seemed a little more cramped than Phil’s own; the windows were in deference to the fact that the <em>Avenger</em> often found herself in battle, and large glass windows would have proven to be a calamity waiting to happen if stray shot got to them.  Having a big hole in the stern of the ship wouldn’t have been conducive to staying afloat.</p><p>However, Peggy had managed to bring her own personality into the cabin, furnishing it with light colored wood and bright fabrics, until it looked less like the room of a warrior captain and more like something out of a country house on Aal’valla.  There were even plants in wooden boxes bolted to the decking, to keep them from sliding all over the place in the midst of battle, or foul weather. </p><p>There were also signs that Peggy wasn’t the only one who lived within those walls.  A rack holding well cared-for armor was against one well, Steve’s familiar shield hanging from a hook beside it.  There was another rack bolted to the wall that held all sorts of weapons; swords, daggers, and even a couple of long-barreled blunderbusses and short-barreled repeaters were there, all cleaned and gleaming and ready for use.</p><p>The bunk was larger than usual, but then it had to fit three.  Peggy, Steve, and Bucky had an unusual arrangement, but it worked for them.  Phil was happy for their triad, and a little envious to be honest, that they all loved each other enough to spend their lives together.  However, he didn’t want the inevitable heartbreak Peggy would suffer through when her very Human lovers were gone.</p><p>Peggy, Steve, and Sam were all seated at a round table near the windows, which were curtained with red and blue cloth and opened to let the sea breeze and sunlight in.  One of the seats was empty; it was obviously meant for James, but Phil had no compunction whatsoever in co-opting it for his own use.  Goose leapt down from his shoulder, winding about the tea things and stopping long enough to sniff at a plate of cakes, then greeting the others at the table. </p><p>The tentacle didn’t make a reappearance.  Phil thought that was a good thing, because that sort of slime didn’t go well with cake.</p><p>“Phil!” Peggy smiled at him in delight, waving him toward the empty chair although he’d already decided he was going to sit in it. “This is a pleasant surprise.  We weren’t expecting you until much later.”  Then she frowned.  “You didn’t bring your Master Hunter with you?”</p><p>That brought the idea that he’d left Clint with Nick, for whatever reason his old friend wanted with his new one.  “He’s with Nick.” He wanted to deny that Clint was <em>his</em> Master Hunter, but didn’t want to give her any sort of ammunition. </p><p>She gave him a knowing look, so he was pretty sure he’d failed.  But then, Peggy was a follower of Good and, while she couldn’t actually read minds like Pepper could, emotions were something that couldn’t be hidden from her.</p><p>“Here.”  Steve shoved a full cup of tea at him, and Phil accepted it gratefully.  Peggy had spent a great deal of time in the kingdom of Brittanium, and had picked up more than just the accent. She also enjoyed a good cup of tea and other quintessentially Brittanium habits; she, Jemma, and Leo often got together for a bit of gossip when both ships were in port.</p><p>Phil, himself, was more of a coffee person, but he would always drink tea with Peggy.</p><p>Sam was looking at them narrowly, as if trying to parse what they were talking about.  Sam Wilson was a handsome man, about the same age as Steve and James, and was weatherwitch for the <em>Avenger</em> as well as an accomplished fighter.  He was a devotee of Light and, while he wasn’t as powerful as Phil himself was, Sam knew his gifts and could use them adeptly.  Phil was pretty impressed with him, and that had been before Sam had become a good friend. </p><p>These four were pretty inseparable, although Sam wasn’t a part of their living arrangements.  He’d been originally a friend of Steve’s, adopted into the small family as a brother, and Phil quite liked him as much as he did Steve and James.  They were all family, due to their connection to Peggy, although she wasn’t really blood related to him.  Phillipjaraynan’coulson and Margaretelsebeth’carter had grown up together, had been meant to be betrothed to each other, would have been married if not for the fact that Phil was not all that much attracted to women as he was to men, and Peggy was far too headstrong to go along with it and wasn’t the marrying kind.  He hadn’t been at all surprised to discover that she’d left Aal’valla as well.  She’d been of the same mind as he, that the Aalveyn were stagnating and becoming insular, and neither of them had wanted to be like that.  Although she hadn’t left for the all the same reasons he had.</p><p>Pepper moving away from the home country had been a bit of a surprise at the time, although it really shouldn’t have.</p><p>“Clint Barton,” Steve explained to Sam.  “Nick wanted to see him; we’re not sure why.”</p><p>“Well,” the weatherwitch drawled, “that sounds about on point for Nick.”</p><p>“So,” Peggy began, pulling the conversation back to where it belonged, even if she didn’t know it yet, “what brings you here?  I’m pretty certain it’s not a social call.”</p><p>Phil sighed.  “I wish it was.”</p><p>And so, he explained about the meeting for later today, and how it had something to do with Clint.  He pulled the note out of his pocket, which Steve took, staring at the names as Phil told them that he’d been practically ordered to get everyone on the list to this meeting.</p><p>Steve frowned.  “I don’t see Maria on this list.”</p><p>Maria Hill was the Mayor of Zephyr Cay, and another close friend of both his and Nick’s going back to before she’d been elected as Mayor by a vast majority of the residents of the Cay.  She and Nick were thick as thieves, and there’d been some rumors that they were heading toward a romantic relationship.  That hadn’t happened, and there were only a few of them who knew the reason why: that Nick had a secret obsession that Maria just couldn’t compete with; and, besides, she and Jasper had had a thing that had since ended.  So, he could understand Steve’s confusion about her not being invited to the meeting.</p><p>“That’s right,” the Aalveyn said, “you haven’t been in port for a bit.” As one of the many warships flying the Shield Islands banner, the <em>Avenger</em> was often out on patrol.  The pirates that hid out amongst the archipelago had been getting bolder of late, and the current Governor, Alexander Pierce, was vowing to put a stop to them. Not that he really could; the pirates were quite good at hiding, and Pierce couldn’t seem to get a lot of advance intelligence on their actions.  Besides, most of the pirates in these waters were friends of Carol’s.  “Something…happened, and she requested that we not include her in any of Nick’s plotting, at least overtly, no matter how innocent.”</p><p>“What could possibly have occurred that would have Maria backing off?” Peggy demanded.  She quite liked Maria as well, and Phil knew if there was a problem between Nick and Maria, Peggy would want to fix it.  And Maria was about as nosy as Nick was, even if she was a follower of Order.</p><p>“She’s pretty certain the Governor is having her under watch.”</p><p>Peggy’s eyebrows went up in surprise.  Steve looked just as surprised, and Sam – who was busily petting Goose, the Flerken was purring so loud it should have been heard onshore – whistled.  “And why on Marvala would Pierce want to put Maria under surveillance?”</p><p>Phil shrugged.  That had been his question as well at the time.</p><p>“Well, there <em>are</em> rumors that Pierce is getting more and more paranoid,” Steve pointed out.  “We saw it, back when we put into Triskelia the last time.  There was something about Vigilantes, and that would be enough to send Pierce into a tizzy.  He could very well have believed she was up to something, since she isn’t directly under his thumb, as it were.”</p><p>“There are also rumors about a new treaty with Waverlyn,” Sam added.  “We saw a few Waverlyn troops on Triskelia, too, and one of my contacts there managed to get confirmation.”</p><p>Phil frowned.  “But there was just a new treaty three turns ago.  Why would they negotiate a new one?”</p><p>Sam shrugged.  “Riley didn’t know.  He was going to see about sticking his nose into a few places, but I told him not to risk himself over it.  He did confirm that shit about the Vigilantes though, and how they were trying to clean up the corruption that’s grown up on the main island.”</p><p>Phil should tell Jasper about that.  He’d left Triskelia because of the corruption, and he’d be happy that someone was trying to do something about it…even if they were unsanctioned by the current government.</p><p>“It’s obvious that Waverlyn is destabilizing,” the Aalveyn pointed out.  “But, if the Islands are on the way to doing the same…”</p><p>It didn’t bear thinking about, really.  Waverlyn going into decline was bad enough, but the Shield Islands were the main hub of trade between all the countries on Marvala.  If they fell into chaos…</p><p>It stuck Phil, once again, that the entire world was gradually sliding into imbalance, and not just Waverlyn itself.  He’d seen the signs of it, in the diminishing of Darkness and her gifts, and the rising of the Light side of that pairing.  He’d benefitted from that rising, his powers gaining strength by the turn.  Well, he’d always been able to use the Maelstrom Harp, which was why he’d taken it from his ancestral home when he’d left, but there were other things he’d noticed but hadn’t put it together until now.</p><p>Something was wrong with the Twelve. Something that was affecting Marvala.</p><p>Peggy was looking at him shrewdly.  “I recognize that expression, Phillipjaraynan’coulson.  It’s your “something bad has occurred to me’ face.”</p><p>“I think that Waverlyn and the Islands are indicative of a bigger problem.”  He explained where his thoughts had gone. </p><p>Peggy sat back, considering.  “We <em>have</em> been noticing that Darkness’ gifts weren’t as strong as they were even thirty turns ago.  But I didn’t know you were feeling the effects in the opposite direction, Phil.”</p><p>He shrugged.  “I didn’t even think about it, to be honest.  I’ve always been strong in my gifts.”  He wasn’t bragging; it was a mere statement of fact. </p><p>Sam nodded.  “You’re strong enough to be a Priest.  I was always surprised you aren’t one.”</p><p>“Not something I ever wanted to do.”  He was happy with his crew and his ship and his life, he didn’t need the extra complication of that sort of thing.  Besides, Phil was of the opinion that he’d make a lousy Priest.</p><p>James practically stomped into the room, his face clean yet his expression irritated.  “Keep that furball away from me,” he growled the moment he caught sight of Goose getting his due from Sam. </p><p>That had the entire table laughing.  “And just what has Goose done now?” Sam asked, practically cuddling the Flerken to his chest.  Goose made a chirping noise, looking very satisfied.</p><p>“Goose licked him again when I first came on board,” Phil chuckled. </p><p>“It took more than just soap to get rid of the slime,” James groused. </p><p>Another round of laughter met that complaint.  Steve stood, shaking his head.  “Come on.  We have an errand to run.”</p><p>James’ pale eyes darted around the table.  “What did I miss?”</p><p>“I’ll explain on the way.”  He turned toward Phil.  “Izzy and Victoria should still be on duty, and it’s still early enough they should be at their office.  I’ll go and let them know about the meeting.  Melinda and Andrew’s place is on the way.”</p><p>He ushered James out of the cabin, his soft voice telling his lover what he’d missed.  The words faded out pretty quickly, and Sam also stood up in the silence.  “Guess this leaves Jasper and Carol to me.”  He set Goose down on the table, the Flerken’s tail flicking in annoyance at the loss of attention.</p><p>“Two marks,” Phil reminded him softly.</p><p>“Two marks,” Sam agreed.  He left the cabin as well, with Goose following close behind.  It would be a toss-up as to whether he’d be accompanying Sam, or Steve and James.</p><p>Phil was willing to bet the Flerken would be catching up with Steve and James, just because of his adoration of the assassin.  Although Goose had an equal adoration of Carol Danvers so that might be his goal, too.</p><p>“It seems like my job has been taken out of my hands,” Phil said dryly, taking a sip of his tea.  It was one of the better types, Wakandan if he was any judge. </p><p>“I might have had something to do with that.”  Peggy looked smug.</p><p>Phil narrowed his eyes at her.  Peggy’s gifts lay in emotions, not thoughts…but then, these men have been with her for at least ten turns, and they knew each other inside and out, with Steve and James having an advantage of being Peggy’s lovers.  Sam, though, was no slouch, and the Aalveyn understood that he’d been able to pick up any sort of emotional cues that Peggy would have sent. </p><p>She leaned her forearms on the table, looking at him squarely.  “Phil, I wanted to talk to you about this hunter of yours –”</p><p>“He’s not <em>my</em> hunter, Peggy,” he denied.  It came out sounding plaintive, and he berated himself internally for it.</p><p>The expression on her face was sad and pitying at the same time.  Phil <em>hated</em> it.  “You’re most of the way in love with him.  I can sense it.”</p><p>He wanted to deny it.  “I can’t afford to be in love with a Human, Peggy,” he did admit.  “And you know the reason why.”</p><p>The sympathy on her face also echoed in his mind as she projected the emotion with her gifts.  “You are the strongest person I know, Phillipjaraynan’coulson.  Here,” she tapped her finger gently against his head, “and here,” again, on his chest over his heart.  “You’ve done things that most wouldn’t have even considered doing.  You left your clan and homeland behind because it was the right thing to do –”</p><p>Phil shook his head.  “I did it because I refused to be a pawn in my father’s power games.”  He liked to tell others that he’d left Aal’valla because he’d needed to get away from the pretentiousness and prejudices of his people, but that had only been a part of it. </p><p>His friend nodded.  “You were the first in three generations to be born with the Deity’s favor.  Of course he was going to try and suppress them.”</p><p>It was an oblique way of referring to his wings.  “And there are times when I wish I hadn’t been.  Sometimes, they’re so heavy…they weigh me down, Peggy.  They should be an honor, but…” He shrugged, feeling the metaphysical shifting of bone and feather against his back. </p><p>“That’s because the Tal’endi are taught the need to hide them,” she pointed out, “because they became afraid of showing Light’s favor, just to avoid any sort of persecution from those who were too bigoted to accept it and call them <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn.”</p><p>She had a point.  Almost from the first day he could understand, he’d been told that he needed to keep his wings secret, by his father and instructors who hadn’t had wings themselves, in such a way that made him feel almost embarrassed to have been granted them.  Now, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d shown them to anyone. </p><p>“I think Clint knows about them,” he blurted, almost before he’d realized he’d spoken.</p><p>Peggy’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline.  “How did that happen?”</p><p>“I’m not sure, but I suspect he can see things that others can’t.”  Clint hadn’t shared that with him, only about his aim and the fact that his eyesight was sharper than anyone else’s, but he suspected that the hunter had somehow seen them with those magnificent eyes of his.  Clint Barton had more gifts than he was willing to admit, the Aalveyn was certain.  “He hasn’t said that he can, but there are ticks when he looks at me…and I swear he knows they’re there.” </p><p>“My dear friend, you have to know…he’s close to feeling the same way you do.  And, if he hasn’t said anything about your wings, then he at least respects your need to keep them a secret.”</p><p>He sighed.  Phil had been hoping that he’d imagined it.  “After whatever it is that Nick wants him for, I doubt I’ll see him again.  So, any feelings we might have for each other simply won’t matter.” He didn’t mention the idea of asking Clint to join his crew; Phil would have, but if Nick was going to be holding meetings about the hunter, then it was far more than just a job he had in mind.</p><p>“You can’t keep yourself aloof from love,” she said fiercely.  “Just because you may lose him fifty or sixty turns from now –”</p><p>“And it will destroy me,” he countered. “I need to keep it from happening before I fall so far that surviving him will be horrific.  I know, Peggy… I know it’s a possibility, and I’m trying to save myself heartbreak.”  He took her hand in his.  “I’m not like you, brave enough to take a Human lover even knowing what’s going to happen in the future.  Deities, you took <em>two</em> lovers…with twice the pain to come when they eventually pass onto the Havens.  I don’t…how do you do it?  How can you stand to watch them grow old and eventually die?”</p><p>“I don’t dwell on it.”  She squeezed his hand.  “I live in the here and now, and try not to look forward into the future.  Steve and James are my present.  And, hopefully, on the day that I do lose them, I’ll have something of them left behind…their children.”  Peggy smiled.  “We’ve been talking about it, and we’ve decided that we want to start a family soon.  I won’t lose them completely that way.”</p><p>“And, if I followed your example, Clint and I wouldn’t have that.”  No children meant no reminders in the turns after the hunter’s death.  He wasn’t one of those Aalveyn whose gender was fluid, <em>alar</em>’Aalveyn, who could be both male and female at whim; nor was he a self-shaper, who could take on the form of a woman in order to carry a child.  No, Phil was decidedly male, which meant no children would come out of any relationship he would have with Clint. </p><p>His friend rolled her eyes at him.  “There are ways to get around that, Phil, and you know it.  You’re just so certain that you’re correct that you’re being inflexible.  It’s like you don’t <em>want</em> to be happy.”</p><p>Phil considered her words.  No, he <em>did</em> want happiness, but he wanted it on his terms.  He didn’t want to trade off happiness with pain, togetherness with loss.  If that meant he had to be aloof from others, well…then, that was what he’d do.  He could live yet for thousands of turns – perhaps more, given that Tal’endi were blessed – and that was far too long to exist with the agony of losing someone he loved. </p><p>“I know you’re trying to help,” he told her, “but I’m perfectly fine the way I am.  I don’t need any emotional entanglements in my life.”  Of course, there was Daisy…but that was different.  For one thing, she was like family; and secondly, she was <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn, which meant her own lifespan would be considerably longer than a Human’s.  He wouldn’t lose her for a long time.</p><p>And there were the twins, who were Dragons and practically immortal anyway.</p><p>But Clint...he would lose Clint too soon, and he couldn’t stand the thought of that.</p><p>“You’re not fine,” she disagreed softly, “but I know there’s nothing I can do to change your mind.”</p><p>No, she wasn’t about to change his mind about Clint.  And, the sooner the mercenary was done with whatever Nick wanted him for, the better.  Phil didn’t need that sort of distraction his life.</p><p>He really <em>was</em> just fine.  Peggy just didn’t want to accept that.</p><p>There was a very tiny voice in the back of his mind – it sounded vaguely like Pepper’s – that was whispering to him, telling him that he was quite wrong to assume that he was alright.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Clint’s mouth dropped open in shock.</p><p>Then he laughed.</p><p>“A Prince? <em>Me</em>?”  He shook his head.  “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble for a joke.”</p><p>Fury was looking at him, and Clint was searching that single dark eye for any sign of humor. </p><p>There wasn’t any.</p><p>Instead, there was a sadness there, as if Fury had failed at something that had turned out horribly wrong.  That his regrets were hovering just behind that eye, staring out at Clint, making themselves known to him. </p><p>It was just a little bit frightening.</p><p>Any humor Clint felt dried up like a puddle of water in a desert.  </p><p>“I’m not joking,” Fury said quietly, which did more to unnerve the hunter than the announcement that he was some sort of long-lost prince had.  “I never make it a practice to apologize, but in this…I’m sorry, Barton.  Clint.  I lost you, although I’m sure there are far too many people who’d absolve me of any wrongdoing.  Yeah, I was only a kid, but my Mistress had given me one job…to protect her only son and the heir to Waverlyn.  And I managed to completely fuck that up.”</p><p>Clint stared.  He couldn’t help it.  This was no joke.  Fury wasn’t messing with him out of some weird notion of giving him shit. </p><p>Not that this man would have had any motive to do that.  They didn’t know each other; had never met before as far as Clint knew.  There was no reason whatsoever to lie to him about this.</p><p>The thing was, Clint <em>was</em> a nobody.  He’d never done anything in his life that would put him above ordinary.  Alright, he’d protected a caravan from seven deathstrikes, but that was just him doing the job he’d been hired for.  Before that, he’d managed to live a life that had been exciting in fits and starts, but he’d mostly kept his head down and earned what pay he could negotiate with his would-be employers, then he would repeat the steps with another person wanting to hire a competent mercenary. </p><p>“No,” he denied, shaking his head.  “You’re wrong.”</p><p>“I can understand why you’d think that,” Fury replied, “but I’m not wrong.  You’re Crown Prince Francis, son of King Harold and Queen Edith.  Me and the Queen’s bodyguard managed to get you out of the wreckage of Waverlyn Castle, where we placed you with a family who was willing to take you in because, well, I was sixteen turns and was just a kid myself, and the Widow was an Aalveyn assassin with absolutely no knowledge in how to raise a child.  Besides, as she pointed out at the time, an Aalveyn with a Human child would only draw attention, and she couldn’t take you back to Aal’valla since that would only cause all sorts of trouble. And…” he shrugged.  “She needed to be somewhere else.”</p><p>That would have sounded damned mysterious, if Clint had been paying attention to that last part.  No, what he was busily wrapping his mind around was the fact that this man honestly believed that he was this Crown Prince, and was doing his best to convince the hunter that he was correct in that belief. </p><p>“Look,” he said, “I’m not sure just why you think I’m some long-lost Prince, but there is no way.  I’m a foundling who was raised by foster parents who tried their best, but in the end I didn’t fit there and left.  I’m a perpetually broke mercenary who does the jobs he’s hired to do, and moves on.”</p><p>Problem was, Clint had <em>always</em> felt as if he hadn’t belonged with the people he’d been placed with.  The Parkers had never gone into any sort of detail about where he’d come from or who had left him with them, but they’d done their best to raise him right. </p><p>And then there were the nightmares. </p><p>He could never remember them, but when Fury had spoken of taking him out of Waverlyn Castle on the night of the massacre, it had triggered something…a flashback.  Of blood and screams and fire.  Then there was the scar…Deities, it made sense, but he simply didn’t want to believe it. </p><p>“This is a lot to take in,” Fury allowed, “and I can understand why you think I’m making this shit up.  But, Barton…Your Highness…I swear to you, on Darkness herself, that every word I’ve said is true.”  He sighed, pouring the archer another drink.  “I went back, you know.  To the Parkers.  But you’d already run off.  Turns out I missed you by a four-ten and a half.”  One corner of his mouth went up in a wry smile.  “Imagine my surprise when you weren’t where I’d put you.  I tried to find you, but it was like you’d disappeared off the face of Marvala and I finally had to give up.”</p><p>“I didn’t fit there.  There was no reason for me to stay.” </p><p>Fury stared at him for a tick, then said, “I should have realized that something like that would have happened, what with your gifts.”</p><p>Clint waved that off.  “My gifts aren’t that good.  I was never particularly blessed.”  It was true; he had his aim, and his eyesight, but that was all.  It couldn’t compare to a lot of the gifts he’d seen while on the road; it also didn’t help that the Deity had been fading for turns now.  Nick Fury was the strongest devotee of Darkness he’d ever met.</p><p>“I just think you haven’t tapped into your complete potential.”</p><p>The archer rolled his eyes.  “Look, you tell him I’m the Prince of Waverlyn, and they you tell me that I’m more powerful than I know I am?  Maybe I can accept the one, but not the other.  I <em>know</em>, Fury.  I know what I’m capable of.  I have perfect aim, and my eyesight is much better than anyone I’ve ever met.  That’s it.”</p><p>And yet, that was a lie, of sorts.  He hadn’t pointed out that he could see auras, and had been able to make out Phil’s hidden wings.  He could also sometimes tell when someone was keeping a secret from him.  But, really, that wasn’t anything special, as far as he was concerned.</p><p>Fury was staring at him once more, as if his single eye could look straight into Clint’s soul.   “I do believe you’re understating things a bit…don’t you?”</p><p>“I don’t know what you mean.”  It was a denial he’d made for turns, an instinct within him telling him he shouldn’t admit to seeing what he could.  He could never have explained why, but he also always listened to those instincts.</p><p>“Really?” he scoffed. “You’re gonna to go with that?”  Fury perched his ass on the corner of the desk, the best to loom.  Clint didn’t want to admit he was a little intimidated.  The Priest was a Presence, his aura thick and sharp around him, like the truest shadow.  “You have abilities that, either you don’t know about, or you’re not admitting to.  You wanna tell me which one it is?”</p><p>No, he really didn’t want to. </p><p>But he had a feeling Fury already knew <em>exactly</em> what Clint could do.</p><p>“I can see auras,” he finally admitted, after a few ticks of uncomfortable silence.  “I can tell what a person’s allegiances are just by looking at them.” He could also sometimes see intention, but that ability was hit and miss, so he didn’t rely on it all that much.</p><p>He was not about to say a thing about Phil’s wings.  For one, he had no idea if Fury even knew about them, although chances were he did if he and Phil truly were good friends.  And two, there were reasons that Tal’endi kept their wings a secret, although he didn’t know why that was, and he wasn’t about to betray that, not even to admit at what he’d seen.</p><p>He wouldn’t do that to Phil.  And his Deity couldn’t demand that of him.  After all, Darkness was also the holder of Secrets, and this was a secret that his friend had chosen to keep from everyone.  Clint wouldn’t be the one to reveal it, not even under Fury’s imposing authority.</p><p>He would have kept that quiet even if hadn’t been feeling what he’d been feeling toward the Aalveyn Tal’endi.</p><p>Not that he’d admit that, either.  Especially since it seemed Phil didn’t feel the same.</p><p>The hunter wanted to punch that smug look off Fury’s face, but he refrained because he was pretty sure the Priest could wipe the floor with him easily.  “That’s pretty impressive.  Even I can’t do that.”</p><p>No, Clint was not going to preen at the compliment.  “Glad you’re happy now,” he snarked instead.</p><p>“Ecstatic.”  Fury stopped looming.  Clint didn’t give away that he was glad of it.  “However, I suspect there’s more to you than even you know.  Because there are things you aren’t aware of, and your mother was a High Priestess.  You would have inherited a lot of her power, despite your father’s contribution to your conception.  King Harold was of Chaos, and fairly strong in his gifts, but that wouldn’t have overridden the Queen’s blessings.”</p><p>“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s it.  That’s all I’ve got.”  Clint wasn’t really all that disappointed, really.  Maybe his lack of gifts would finally get it through the other man’s head that he had the wrong person.  That he wasn’t <em>really</em> this mythical long-lost prince of Waverlyn.  He was just a foundling who had nightmares about something he couldn’t remember and enough trauma in his life that he <em>could </em>recall a little too easily.  There was <em>no way</em> he was the rightful ruler of Waverlyn.  Honestly, he couldn’t be any less princely if he tried.  He was a wanderer, a mercenary, with everything he owned in a pack that he could carry with him and a one-eyed dog, who lived from job to job and only had enough money this time to take a bit of a break because he was an idiot who decided to take on seven deathstrikes in order to protect the caravan he’d been hired to escort and had got lucky.</p><p>And yet, there was this part of Clint that had been busily adding things together and coming up with the notion that Fury might very well be correct, that he had the right person, that the archer was some sort of lost prince who’d been rescued from death and destruction by a kid and an assassin with a strange name. </p><p>But that still didn’t give him gifts that he simply didn’t have.</p><p>“Look,” he capitulated, “as weird as it sounds, maybe you’re right to call me this Prince Francis.  Maybe I really <em>am</em> the son of King Harold and Queen Edith.  But, really…I’m not that special, power wise.  Sure, I can see people’s auras, and you can’t do that, but that doesn’t mean anything.  I’m sure there are other gifts out there that you don’t have, either.”  Fury nodded in agreement.  “But I don’t know what you want me to do, here.  It’s been thirty turns, King Charles has been ruling for that long and, if you take the last ten turns out of the picture, he’d done a pretty good job for someone who murdered everyone and usurped the throne.”  Not that he would ever condone that sort of thing.  But, in his opinion it was a little late to be worrying about who would be ruling in Waverlyn.</p><p>“Yeah, you see…I lived through that,” Fury pointed out.  “I remember the blood and fire and death, and seeing what was once my home destroyed.  Charles was the bastard son of the king, he had no right to the throne whatsoever, and yet he made a deal with Evil so he could take what wasn’t his.  He was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people, him and his allies, and he should have been taken down turns ago except I lost the true heir and couldn’t find him.”  He leaned forward again, but this time there was less looming and more imploring.  “The thing is, somehow Charles found out you survived.  He knows you’re out there in the world somewhere, and he’s not going to stop trying to come after you.  It won’t matter where you hide, he has spies and agents everywhere.  Deities, I wouldn’t be damned surprised if he didn’t have spies here on Zephyr Cay, it’s just that I haven’t been able to find them and Pierce would flip his shit if that was being done without him knowing about it.  I’m also sure that, after he’s given up trying to find you in Waverlyn, he’ll manage to get that royal warrant transmitted to every single country on Marvala, so there won’t be a place you can hide.  He’s gonna find you eventually, and when he does I wouldn’t give a single copper coin for your chances.  He’ll want to finish what he started, and that means you have to die.  As long as you’re alive, there’s a chance you’ll come for him and take the throne.  Charles might be bug fuck crazy, but he’s also smart.  Add the two together and there’s no telling what he’s willing to do to assassinate you.”</p><p>Clint shivered. If Fury was right – and he had no doubt that he was, although he didn’t know <em>why</em> he was positive of his facts – then it would only be a matter of time before he was located and dragged back to Waverlyn.  Even if he sought refuge in another country, there was still that chance someone would find him and alert the King. </p><p>He really had no choice; it was act or react…and any reaction would end with Clint dying.  That was really the last thing he wanted to do.  His life might not be much, but it was his, and he wasn’t done living it yet.</p><p>Fury must have seen by the expression on his face what Clint was thinking, because he rested a hand on the mercenary’s shoulder in comfort.  “Look, I know this is a shock.  You went from being an ordinary guy to someone who has an actual destiny, whose life is really in as near immediate danger as it can get.  You also have gifts you haven’t even tapped into yet, and with those I’m gonna help you.  You’ll need that edge if you’re going to face Charles…he’s got all of Evil backing him.  But, there’s also something else at stake here… and that’s the balance between the Twelve.  I’m sure you’ve noticed that Darkness seems to be fading more and more every turn.”</p><p>Clint nodded; it hadn’t been obvious at first, but as the turns rolled on it had become more and more apparent that something was very wrong with the Deity.</p><p>“There’s a reason for that.  Just as there’s a reason for Good and Evil to also be out of balance, with Evil getting more and more powerful.  The imbalance isn’t just between one opposite pair, and it’s getting worse.”</p><p>“Whoa.”  Clint put a hand up, as if telling Fury to back that up.  “It was bad enough you telling me I was some sort of royalty.  Now you’re telling me it’s all tied into the Twelve?” </p><p>Just how was he supposed to deal with <em>that</em>?  He was mortal, a Human, without any ties to the Twelve except through his own gifts.  What they did here had no bearing with that!</p><p>Fury leaned back and out of Clint’s personal space.  “There’s so much you don’t know and, if you thought you didn’t believe me about being Prince Francis, you’re sure as shit not going to believe what I tell you next…”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Phil ended up spending the rest of the time before the meeting with Peggy; once she stopped meddling in his lack of love life, their conversation became actually quite pleasant.</p><p>He’d always gotten along with Peggy.  She truly was his oldest friend; her clan’s estates had butted up against his own clan’s holdings, and they’d played together as children.  It had only made sense that their parents would have wanted to solidify an alliance through their eventual marriage but that hadn’t worked out. </p><p>It had been for the best.  Phil, while he did like women, leaned more toward men as suitable life partners…although that wasn’t what he was looking for anymore.  And Peggy had been free-spirted and not the marrying kind.  It really hadn’t been a surprise to him that she’d ended up with <em>two</em> men, even though they were Human. </p><p>Still, they were able to catch up.  It had been six four-tens since they’d last seen each other, and a lot had happened in that time.  Peggy had shared how their patrol had gone, not that any of the local pirates would touch an Island warship, so they hadn’t actually seen any sort of vessel that could even be remotely classified as piratical.  Still, she did say that water traffic between the countries wasn’t nearly as busy as it had been in turns past, and Phil could tell she was concerned about it.</p><p>He couldn’t blame her.  He’d seen it himself, on his various trips between the countries he’d traded with, and certainly understood her worry.  It was as if all the other countries were becoming cut off from one another. </p><p>Phil expected that with Aal’valla.  Even back when they’d both lived there, he’d seen the signs of their turning away from the rest of the world, of the Clan Council making laws that stifled trade and immigration outside their country, along with the idea of realignment to the old clan ideals.  The long buried prejudices – which had never really vanished – had come roaring back with a vengeance, and it had been only one of the reasons that Phil had felt the need to leave.</p><p>Of course, his father trying to use Phil and his gifts to build prestige with the Clan Council really had been the primary reason.  It was just that he hadn’t agreed with anything else his people were doing, either.</p><p>And it wasn’t the ordinary citizens that were the cause of Phil’s unease.  Yes, they went with the Council’s edicts, and learned the lessons they were being taught, but he had a feeling things could be different if only attitudes changed with their Clan leaders.  Still, there wasn’t anything he could do about it, and he had the feeling it was getting too late to make the turn back to right.</p><p>Peggy agreed with him, although she usually had a better outlook on things than Phil himself did.  But then, she hadn’t had the same experiences that he had.  Phil was actually glad of that.</p><p>When it was time, they left the <em>Avenger</em> together and headed into town, getting horses from the livery stable on their way.  This trip to Nick’s was different from the one he’d taken earlier in the day; for one thing, Clint wasn’t riding with him, and for some reason that didn’t feel quite right.  The Aalveyn shook his head to clear those thoughts out, they weren’t relevant to events.</p><p>He had a small voice in his head telling him that Clint Barton would never <em>not</em> be relevant.</p><p>He did his best to ignore it.</p><p>Peggy giving him <em>that</em> look meant he couldn’t.</p><p>Why couldn’t she understand?  He just couldn’t take the risk of letting the archer into his life.  Besides, he seriously doubted he’d be seeing much of Clint in the upcoming days.  He guessed, after this meeting, it would be the last, despite that small hope that he’d be able to make the offer of a place on the <em>Dream </em>to the hunter. Daisy would be disappointed, but she would be fine.</p><p>So, giving in to what was his developing friendship simply wasn’t the answer.</p><p>No, he would continue to go his own way, with his crew and his friends, and he’d keep doing what he’d always done…be Nick’s eyes and ears on a world his friend never left the Cay anymore to see.</p><p>There were horses already tied up in front of the house when they arrived, Phil recognizing the one Clint had taken on their original ride.  If the list that Nick had given him was any sort of guide, they were missing three, and he willing to bet it was Sam, Jasper, and Carol.  They were the only group that would have had three in it. </p><p>They had to tie their horses up to a tree, but that was fine.  The front door was open, and felt about as welcoming as Nick’s house usually did…which was pretty damned welcoming, if Phil was honest.  They may have been opposites, but Nick Fury was his friend, and that made all the difference.</p><p>There were voices coming from the sitting room, so Phil turned in that direction, Peggy at his side, and found that his thought about who was missing was correct.  Everyone else that was on the list was already there; someone had pulled extra chairs into the room, making it seem a little too crowded, but this wasn’t the first gathering they’d had at Nick’s, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last.</p><p>Izzy and Victoria were together on the settee, looking cozy together…if such a pair of strong women could be considered ‘cozy’.  Both were Peace Officers for Cayside; Isabelle Hartley was of Order, while her partner, Victoria Hand, was of Science.  They made a formidable team, and were well liked on Zephyr Cay despite their tendency to strictness.</p><p>Melinda was standing in the corner, behind the chair where her husband, Andrew, sat.  Phil quite liked Andrew: he was a healer who dealt in injuries of the mind, and he’d taught Jemma a few things that had come in handy over the turns.  He was a handsome man, and the Aalveyn considered Melinda one very lucky woman…just as he considered Andrew to have done the right prayers to Chaos in order to find Melinda and convince her to marry him.</p><p>Steve and James were there as well, and they greeted Peggy with smiles and a place to sit near the fireplace. </p><p>Nick and Clint weren’t in the room, and Phil wondered where they were.  He’d left them there when he’d gone on the errand his friend had set him, and he was concerned that something had happened while he’d been gone.  Still, Clint’s horse was still outside, so Nick hadn’t sent him out to do whatever it was that he’d wanted the archer for in the first place, which meant he was most likely still in the house somewhere. </p><p>Phil found himself settled into a chair that stood alone by the window, greeting the others as he made his way over.  He kept his face placid, but he suddenly felt an attack of nerves that he couldn’t explain, as if the world was going to be changing once this meeting started.  All of these people, they were Nick’s confidantes – only Maria Hill was missing, and that was a self-imposed exile for good reasons, and would most likely get a private briefing on events later – and they would be involved in whatever plan Nick had brewing.  They would be the ones to enact this plan, and the Aalveyn had no idea what it was.</p><p>Only that it involved Clint.</p><p>From the moment that Nick had come to him, and told him about a mercenary named Clint Barton, Phil should have seen the signs.  But he wasn’t a foreseer, he didn’t have that gift, so he could be excused for thinking his friend wanted him to fetch the Human for anything but innocent purposes.  He’d thought he wouldn’t be seeing Clint again once he’d gotten him to Nick, and he still thought that, but now he was going to know exactly what Nick had wanted the archer for.</p><p>Phil wasn’t so sure he <em>wanted</em> to know, if he was being truly honest with himself.</p><p>He didn’t want to admit that he cared too much for Clint to see what Nick had planned for the Human.  And yet, Phil <em>needed</em> to.  He needed to know just what Clint’s role was in whatever twisted plot Nick had come up with. </p><p>It was obvious that he was fooling everyone but Peggy.  She was watching him closely, her empathy picking up on his dread of what was going to happen next.  Her dark eyes met his, worry and sadness in them, and he steeled himself for what was going to occur once the meeting started.</p><p>Phil was distracted when Sam, Carol, and Jasper entered the sitting room.  “Looks like we have a full house,” Jasper quipped.  Instead of taking a chair, the scribe leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and looking expectant.  “Any idea what’s going on?”</p><p>“We’re as much in the dark as you are,” Izzy spoke up.  “Which, if you think about it, is par for the course for Nick.”</p><p>Goose, who mysteriously appeared from somewhere, jumped up into Carol’s lap the moment she sat down, the Flerken’s rumbling purr loud in the quiet.  Carol Danvers was one of Goose’s favorite people, Captain of the militia for Zephyr Cay, of Fire and Strife, and very good at her position.  Phil quite liked her, and they got along really well. </p><p>“Of course it is,” Jasper snarked back, rolling his eyes behind his gold-rimmed spectacles.  As a follower of Good, he kept the docks of Zephyr Cay running like a well-tuned timepiece, and there had been a couple of times that Phil had gotten into slight disagreements with him over port fees and docking restrictions, but the Aalveyn usually capitulated in the end.  Generally, he simply enjoyed giving the Port Authority a difficult time.  If he ever stopped, Jasper would wonder if Phil was sick or been replaced by a self-shaper.</p><p>“And you all love it,” Nick retorted, breezing into the room, Clint right behind him as if trying to hide behind the other man’s very presence.  “It keeps you on your toes.”</p><p>The archer didn’t manage to escape notice.  Everyone in the room had their eyes on him as he made his way toward an empty chair close to Phil, Lucky padding along at his side like a canine shadow.  The dog, seeing Phil sitting there, waited until his companion was seated them came over to say hello, leaning against the Aalveyn’s legs and demanding attention.</p><p>Smiling, Phil granted that attention, scrubbing his hand across Lucky’s head and down his shoulders and his back.  The dog lolled his tongue out at him in adoration.</p><p>Looking up, the Aalveyn glanced at Clint, who looked about as haunted as a person could get.  Phil raised an eyebrow in concern, worried about his friend; the archer shook his head minutely, which didn’t settle his nerves one single bit.</p><p>Nick waved his hand, and his gifts burst forth, shadowing the sitting room against any surveillance that might be done.  It had Phil sitting up a little at the show of security; they’d met before, but this paranoia was nothing on what Nick had done before.</p><p>“That bad?” Carol was the first to ask what they were all thinking.</p><p>“You have no idea,” Nick answered, his voice solemn.  “I have a lot to get you caught up on, and it’s gonna take a bit.  There’s plenty of alcohol in the cabinet,” he waved toward the drinks cabinet, as if no one in the room knew exactly where Nick kept his spirits, “and I’ll supply the snacks if needed.  For now, though, I’m gonna explain a few things and if you can avoid any questions until I ask for them, it’ll allow me to get big chunks of the story out without interruptions.”</p><p>He glared around the room, as if daring them all to say anything.  Phil did not feel the need to make any comments, and neither did anyone else.</p><p>Clint, though, slumped down in his chair a little more.  Lucky, who’d left Phil’s side, was back with his head on the archer’s knee, giving the man comfort.</p><p>The sudden desire to save Clint from whatever was going to be discussed reared its ugly head.  The mercenary’s face was pale, and there was such a combination of distress and despair in his eyes that the Aalveyn wished he could reach over and take his hand, although he had no idea why Clint would be feeling this way.</p><p>He barely refrained.  He wasn’t sure such a thing would be welcome, honestly.</p><p>He knew it was unconscious, but every single person in the room – besides Clint, of course – leaned forward, as if Nick’s voice wasn’t perfectly audible.  It was the anticipation, Phil knew, and he was feeling it himself.</p><p>As well as the same dread as before.  He had no idea why he’d feel that way, but he did, and emotions were never logical no matter how he might have wished they were.</p><p>“To start off,” Nick began, “I want to introduce you to Clint Barton, mercenary, and someone who’s pretty damned important to the story I’m about to tell.”</p><p>Clint nodded, but didn’t say anything, although he looked extremely uncomfortable being stared at by a room full of strangers.  Phil couldn’t blame him one bit.</p><p>“Firstly,” Nick went on, standing in front of the fireplace, hands behind his back, “my name isn’t really Nick Fury.  I was born Marcus Johnson, and I was Acolyte to Her Highness, Queen Edith of Waverlyn.  I am one of three survivors of the Massacre.”</p><p>That…Phil was struck silent in shock.  A survivor of the Massacre of Waverlyn Castle?  It…actually made sense, now that the Aalveyn considered it.  Nick had made certain comments about the events that horrible night, and hadn’t made it a secret how he felt about King Charles, even though it was blatantly obvious how much he loathed the man and held him responsible for everything that had happened in the kingdom for thirty turns.  Yes, there were times when Nick had grudgingly admitted that the King had done a fairly decent job at ruling despite how he’d come into power, but Phil had been able to tell his heart really wasn’t in it.  Nick had always gone out of his way to find fault, even to the point of asking Phil himself to make contacts in the kingdom and to pass along both facts and rumors that he managed to hear during his many stops to trade in Waverlyn, as if he’d been expecting it to turn bad at some point.</p><p>If that was the case, he’d certainly been proven correct.  King Charles was slowly losing his mind, and taking out his sick fantasies on his own people.  It was getting worse and worse, until it was becoming unsafe to travel and taxes were bankrupting the poorer residents of the kingdom. </p><p>Nick, having been someone who’d witnessed the Massacre first-hand, now all of his plotting and the comments he’d made over the turns now made so much sense.</p><p>It was apparent that the others in the room thought the same he did, if the various expressions of dismay and realization were any indication.</p><p>“You said one of three survivors.”  Andrew was firmly in healing mode, probing softly for answers in that quiet, calm way he had.</p><p>Nick visibly bit off what he was about to say; most likely, it had to do with having asked not to be interrupted.  “I was sixteen turns at the time,” he continued, “and I was given a task by the Queen before I left…and that was to protect Prince Francis and to get him out of the castle.  The Queen’s bodyguard, one of the infamous Aalveyn Widows, helped me do just that.”</p><p>Now, that caused an uproar, everyone talking at once, demanding answers.  Phil, though, was silent, his mind racing, and he found himself glancing over at Clint, letting his shock and horror show in his eyes.</p><p>Clint met his gaze.</p><p>He nodded, a short, sharp gesture that had the Aalveyn gasping in surprise.</p><p>Clint Barton was Prince Francis, the long thought dead Crown Prince of Waverlyn.</p><p>Phil was absolutely convinced that Clint hadn’t been aware of his heritage.  Just from the conversations they’d had on the voyage here, the Aalveyn knew that the archer had had no idea who his parents had been.  He’d spoken about being fostered, and running away from the family he’d been staying with when the sensation of him not belonging had gotten too strong to ignore, and he’d been completely honest about it.  As far as Clint had been concerned, he’d been no one, not important, and Phil had to wonder just how he’d taken being informed that he was really the true ruler of Waverlyn.</p><p>Judging by the haunted expression in his eyes, not very well at all.</p><p>Nick whistled sharply, cutting off the voices that were demanding answers.  “Now, if I can continue?” He stared them all down with his good eye.  “Since I was just sixteen, and the Widow was Aalveyn, neither of us felt prepared to raise a three-turn old child on our own.  So, we found a family willing to foster the prince, although we didn’t tell them anything about where he’d come from, only that he was an orphan of my Mistress and how I didn’t know anything about child-rearing, and the Widow would have been unable to take a Human boy back to Aal’valla because if there was one thing to guarantee bringing attention to her, was to bring a Human back to the Red Room to raise.”</p><p>“That was thirty turns ago!” Peggy protested.  “Didn’t you go back for the child when he was of age?”</p><p>“Of course I did!” Nick answered hotly.  He was beginning to lose his temper, and Phil couldn’t blame him.  “But the prince had run away barely six tendays before I was able to get back to where I’d left him.  I had no idea where he was, or how to find him after that.”</p><p>That seemed to settle Peggy’s ire down a little.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to interrupt.”</p><p>“Sure you did.”  Nick gave her a wry smile, his own anger cooling a bit at her apology.  “And I can admit that I’ve felt guilty ever since, thinking that I’d failed at the one thing the Queen had asked me to do before she’d died.  I tried using the name that the foster parents had given him, but there wasn’t any trace.  I had no choice but to keep searching, but the more turns went by, the less hope I had that I’d ever find him.”</p><p>Phil wondered if he’d met Nick on one of those searches.  The timing certainly seemed right.</p><p>“And so, we come to two four-tens ago,” he continued.  “I have a…let’s just say, a friend, at the Waverlyn Court.  They were able to get word to me that the King had suddenly learned that the rightful ruler had somehow survived the Massacre, and that he was tearing the country apart looking for him.  They gave me a name, and I sent Phil and his crew to Waverlyn to see if they’d have any luck tracking the man down.”</p><p>Peggy blinked, her gaze turning toward Clint.  Steve and James’ eyes did the same, followed by Sam’s perhaps a beat later, and Phil could tell they were doing the math and coming up with the same conclusion he’d realized almost immediately.  His friend’s gaze turned toward him, and he could see the distress and pity in them when she figured out that Phil had managed to develop feelings for the rightful ruler of Waverlyn. </p><p>Even if Phil had been inclined to make his feelings known to Clint, that was now out of the question. </p><p>He was so very glad he’d decided that nothing could happen between them.  That Phil could never have any sort of relationship other than friendship with Clint Barton…or Francis, Crown Prince of Waverlyn, as he truly was.  If he’d risked his heart with the Human…the short-lived, frail mortal… Deities, this would have been the end.  Because Clint would have had to marry for dynastic reasons, even if he <em>was</em> able to re-take the throne from his bastard half-brother, and a self-exiled Aalveyn wouldn’t have been a good match at all, let alone be able to give Clint the heir that he would have eventually needed.</p><p>No, it was a good thing he hadn’t made any sort of step toward a more intimate relationship with Clint.  He’d been in the right, only not for the reasons he’d stated.</p><p>“So,” Victoria mused, “you have a contact at Waverlyn Castle, who just happened to overhear a name, and they got this information to you, so you sent Phil out to locate this so-called Prince.  I take it, Phil found him.”</p><p>Her dark eyes went to the only stranger in the room. </p><p>Phil could tell that it was all Clint could do not to react to what sounded almost like a condemnation.  He wished he could explain that this was just Victoria’s way, that she hadn’t meant anything by how she’d phrased that, but he really couldn’t.  Victoria Hand was a creature of logic, of Science, and she would have put it all together almost as fast as Peggy, James, Steve, and Sam…although they’d had advanced knowledge of the errand that Nick had sent him on and had met Clint earlier that day.  It would have been obvious to them just who Clint Barton actually was.</p><p>And then, Clint stood, his chin lifted proudly.  “That would be me, yeah.” </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Clint would never figure out just what prompted him to stand and admit to being the lost Crown Prince of Waverlyn.</p><p>Yes, he’d <em>had</em> to accept it, as well as the other revelation Fury had dropped in his lap – and his mind shied away from that one in a way it didn’t about being royalty – but that hadn’t meant he was ready to get up in front of several strangers – and Phil, he couldn’t forget Phil if he tried – and claim that role for himself.  It meant that it was real, that there would be no going back, he would be Prince Francis forever. </p><p>And who named their kid Francis, anyway?</p><p>Never mind that part.</p><p>Before he’d realized what he was doing, he was on his feet, admitting that he was a prince, and doing it as if he was proud of the fact, despite the nerves that threatened to put him right back into his chair.  The thing was, Clint didn’t have a lot of be proud of.  There were his gifts, but that really was all.  In the archer’s own head, he was still that low-born mercenary that had lived from hand to mouth for most of his life, who hadn’t belonged anywhere so he’d traveled all over Waverlyn – and to other countries occasionally – in a futile attempt to find his place in the world.  Knowing his true mother and father didn’t change that view of himself.</p><p>He could feel every single eye on him, and Clint managed to hide the cringe at the attention.  He would never get used to that.</p><p>One of the men was frowning in thought.  He was about average height, with dark eyes behind gold wire-framed spectacles and had a shaved head, with an aura that put him firmly into Good’s favor.  Clint really hoped he wasn’t a knower, because he didn’t want anyone to know what was going on in his mind at the tick.  “Are you suggesting we depose King Charles, and put <em>him</em> on the throne of Waverlyn?” There was incredulousness in his voice, which Clint could totally get behind.</p><p>He really wished Fury had introduced him to the people he didn’t know, but the bastard just had to be dramatic about the reveal.  Clint would have to ask Phil about it when he got the chance.</p><p>The archer really wanted to see how Phil was reacting, but didn’t dare even glance at the Aalveyn.  He felt vaguely…ashamed, as if he’d purposely lied to his friend, when he hadn’t had any clue as to his true parentage until Fury had informed him a couple of marks ago.  Would Phil be looking at him any different? </p><p>And what would he have thought if…</p><p>No, Clint still wasn’t thinking about that second, rather explosive, fact Fury had dropped on him.</p><p>He’d also had to face the fact that, even if Phil had shown any interest, there couldn’t be anything between them now.  The moment his real past had come to light, Clint had realized that he’d lost any and all chance of a true happy ending.  While he couldn’t pretend that he knew anything about being royalty, he <em>did</em> understand that marrying for love wasn’t going to happen now.  He would need someone who could give him heirs, and that wasn’t going to be an Aalveyn male, no matter how strongly the archer might have felt about him.  At least it was happening <em>now</em>, and not after he’d gotten so attached he couldn’t let go.</p><p>“That is much easier said than done,” Fury admitted. </p><p>With the attention back on the other man, Clint sat back down before his knees did the job for him.  He thought he’d managed to hide his true feelings from everyone except for Captain Peggy, who was looking at him sympathetically.  He wanted to hate her for it while at the same being pitifully grateful that there seemed to be <em>someone</em> in the room who understood what he was going through.</p><p>“It’s not like we have an army we can use to go into Waverlyn and take the castle,” the priest continued.  “If the prince was to set a single foot into the damned place, he’d be dead before he got past the inner doors.”</p><p>Which was true.  The current King wasn’t about to let his younger half-brother get close enough to make any sort of claim.  Fury had been quite fuzzy on the details of his plan, but Clint figured they were about to get all the particulars.</p><p>“The problem,” the man leaned up against the mantel, his one eye traveling over everyone in the room, “is that Waverlyn isn’t the only country in the midst of destabilizing. It didn’t even really start the trend…Aal’valla did.  However, the Massacre made that slide into imbalance faster, and we can’t just fix Waverlyn…we’d have to fix almost the entire world.</p><p>“We would need allies, but there really isn’t any one country who would be willing or even able to do it,” Fury continued.  “From what I’ve been hearing, every single country on Marvala is in trouble.  Wakanda just had to deal with an uprising led by the king’s nephew, and it almost succeeded…leaving King T’Chaka dead and his son on the throne.  King Odin of Asgard is getting more and more frail, and Prince Thor isn’t ready to take the throne…in fact, the prince was recently exiled for being a warmongering brat who can’t keep control of himself.”</p><p>“Being exiled seems to run in the Asgardian royal family,” the follower of Good muttered.</p><p>While Clint had read parts of the <em>Book of the Eternities</em> when he was in school, he hadn’t really retained a lot of what had been within it.  One of the stories he <em>did</em> recall was the one about Good, and how the rest of her brother and sister Deities had exiled her for some reason, and how she’d fallen in love with a Human and had helped found the Asgardian royal line from the child that had been conceived from their union. So, he completely understood the man’s reference, and would have found it funny if not for the fact that all of this was leading back to him, and some sort of plan that Fury had come up with that Clint wasn’t so sure he wanted a part of.</p><p>He sure as Havens didn’t want to be put on <em>any</em> sort of throne.</p><p>“And what about Sokovia?  Or Brittanium?  The Achanri Hegemony?” asked the woman who was currently loving on Goose.  The Flerken had gone to her immediately, and she’d easily accepted him onto her lap.  Her aura told the tale of Fire, of Strike; she was blonde, and was wearing a uniform that had Clint wondering what military force she was with. </p><p>Clint also noticed that she hadn’t mentioned the Shield Islands.  He wondered why.</p><p>“Not Brittanium,” Captain Peggy spoke up.  “Their Parliament has just passed a measure to cut off the country completely from the rest of the world.”  She seemed upset about it.  “All traders are going to need special papers to bring their goods into the country from now on…that is, if they’re allowed to dock at all.”</p><p>“Shit.”  That was said by a woman with dark hair who looked like she could kick the ass of nearly everyone in the room.  She was of Order, her aura a rich indigo; she was seated next to another woman, also with dark hair but with a crimson streak dyed into it, and was of Science.  The way they reacted to one another Clint would have easily guessed they were lovers, if not married.</p><p>“Pretty much,” James growled.  “We were actually kicked out of port the last time we were there, right after they announced the closing of their borders.”</p><p>“But then,” Steve pointed out, “the <em>Avenger </em>is a warship from another country.”</p><p>Peggy snorted.  “And we were there on a mission for Governor Pierce.  We had a diplomatic pass, and we were still practically expelled from Brittanium.”</p><p>“Sokovia?” the blonde repeated.</p><p>“The Human citizens are on the verge of a major conflict with the Dragons,” Fury answered.  “I’ve heard about three different stories on how it started, and I suspect it’s a combination of all three, but there’s no way they’re gonna care about Waverlyn.”</p><p>‘And,” Phil spoke up, “if you recall how I came to adopt Wanda and Pietro…someone calling himself a Dragon Hunter had managed to find them as near-hatchlings, and would have murdered them in cold blood if I hadn’t intervened.  So the Humans there have been wanting trouble for quite a while, now.”</p><p>Clint hadn’t known that, but it sounded very much like something the Aalveyn would have done.  Phil had a fine sense of justice, he’d come to discover in the time he’d been onboard the <em>Dream.</em></p><p>“And don’t start on the Hegemony,” Melinda spoke up.  “Achanri has just been looking for an excuse to ignore the rest of the world for turns now.  Even before now, they wouldn’t have lifted a hand to help out another country, not unless there was something in it for them.”  She sounded disgusted.  “In fact, the country itself was just split up between the sons of the last Emperor, because the idiot had believed he was immortal and hadn’t actually named an heir, then ended up dying rather precipitously.  Why he wasn’t removed from the throne before he’d died, because he was insane, I have no idea.”</p><p>The more Clint heard, the more he was thinking that he’d never become King of Waverlyn… and he was just fine with that.  He didn’t want the job; he wasn’t any sort of royal material, and didn’t even know how to run his <em>own</em> life, let alone an entire kingdom’s worth of people.  Putting him in charge would be the wrong thing, and he’d tried to tell Fury that, but the man refused to listen.  It didn’t matter who his birth parents were, he simply didn’t have the ability or the inclination to rule.  So, it looked as if it wouldn’t happen, and he didn’t feel at all upset about it.</p><p>“If we don’t do something,” Fury went on inexorably, “it could also do damage to the Twelve.”</p><p>The woman with the red streak in her hair snorted.  “And just how do events here on Marvala affect the Twelve?”</p><p>“Because every single race on Marvala has slowly been backing off from worshipping the Twelve,” Phil answered softly.  “The balance is already affected.  We’ve all heard the rumors about Darkness being dead, which isn’t true… but she <em>has</em> been fading for at least the last thirty turns, which means Light is getting stronger.  I can feel it in my gifts, Victoria.  It’s happening, and it needs to be reversed before things tip totally into Light’s favor.”</p><p>“It’s the same with Good and Evil,” Captain Peggy added.  “Evil’s got an even bigger foothold in the world and it’s affecting those of us who are aligned with Good.”  The bald man nodded in agreement.</p><p>“That’s because,” Fury said, “King Charles made a deal with Evil in order to get the throne.”</p><p>That caused a bit of an uproar among everyone present.  Clint remained silent, listening to the back and forth between these people, their arguments and their denials, and wanted to sigh.  Why couldn’t anyone <em>see</em> that things were unraveling?  It had been obvious to him, but he’d lived his life in Waverlyn and had seen things first-hand.  And Phil was correct…a person’s gifts would be the first thing affected by any waxing or waning of one of the Twelve. </p><p>The thing was, he <em>knew</em> the reason for Darkness fading.  Fury had informed him.  Clint just didn’t like thinking about it.</p><p>He knew it was about to come out, however.  And he didn’t want it to.</p><p>Fury put his fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly for attention.  The hubbub quietened down, but Clint’s heartrate began to race.  He knew it was coming, that Fury was going to explain and he didn’t want to hear it again.  He was terrified, because this affected him personally, and the last thing he wanted was for these strangers to know this one secret. </p><p>If he thought them knowing he was the rightful King of Waverlyn was awful…</p><p>Captain Peggy was looking at him once again, her brows drawn down in confusion.  He wanted to rail at her, to tell her to keep her gifts to herself, but the archer understood that, sometimes, it didn’t work that way.  All of the training in the world couldn’t shut down a gift that wasn’t made to do it, and he was beginning to suspect that was the way with her.  She didn’t seem to be reacting so much to his thoughts, than to his emotions, and that sort of empathic power would have been difficult to control. </p><p>Still, he wished she wasn’t picking up on his feelings like she obviously was.  They were private, and they were his, and he didn’t want to share them with <em>anyone</em>.</p><p>Well, maybe Phil, but that was out of the question now.</p><p>“Just how can a Human make a deal with a Deity?” Steve demanded into the silence.</p><p>“I don’t know the details,” Fury admitted, “but I can tell you that that deal not only put the bastard into a position of power, it led to the diminishment of Darkness.”</p><p>“How is that possible?” the man in the glasses asked.</p><p>“Jasper’s got a point,” James said.  “I can see our deciding not to follow the Twelve anymore might make a mess of the gifts we get from them, but how can Evil’s deal with a Human affect Darkness?”</p><p>Fury rubbed his eyepatch, suddenly looking really tried.  “What I’m about to tell you, I’ve kept a secret for thirty turns.  It was knowledge given to me by my Mistress, and it’s not to leave this room.” He gave them all a sharp glare.  “Is that understood?”</p><p>There were nods all around. </p><p>Clint slumped down into his chair, suddenly wishing he could become invisible.</p><p>“Order foresaw a time when something would occur to upset the balance of the Twelve; Havens, it’s even written about in the <em>Book of the Eternities</em>.  She also foresaw that the only way to put things to rights was to get directly involved with the mortals’ affairs, despite the fact they they’d all sworn that damned vow to let the mortal Races go their own way and not interfere.  When Darkness discovered this, she realized this was her burden to bear, so she took on an Avatar and came to Marvala.  She put herself into a position of power, in the midst of the storm, so to speak, in order to be in place when things began to spiral out of control.”</p><p>“She was at the Massacre.”</p><p>Phil had put it together quickly; Clint had known he was smart, but he’d been hoping for a little longer to live with his denial.  If he didn’t…care…so much for the Aalveyn captain, he would have been irritated.</p><p>“She was,” Fury confirmed. </p><p>Clint could tell the moment the others in the room fitted the pieces of the puzzle Fury was showing them together when every eye in the room turned to him once more.  The archer wished he had some ability to cloak himself in shadows, to hide from their scrutiny. </p><p>“She was your Mistress,” James stated, saying out loud what everyone else had to be thinking.</p><p>“The Queen of Waverlyn was an Avatar of Darkness?” the man with Melinda exclaimed.  He was a healer, and a pretty powerful one to boot. Clint wondered if this was Andrew, Melinda’s husband; she’d mentioned him on the trip from Morgantown.  He thought he must be.</p><p>“That means…”  Captain Peggy didn’t say what she was thinking.</p><p>Which really didn’t matter.</p><p>Clint wanted nothing more than to leave, to go back to Waverlyn and pretend this had never happened.  When Fury had told him that his birth mother had been an actual Avatar of Darkness, he’d scoffed at first.  There was nothing special about him, nothing at all, and if he’d truly been the son of a Deity surely it would have manifested itself in some way long before now?  His gifts were middling; he was a mercenary, paid to take jobs that often had him killing things…and sometimes people.  There was absolutely nothing extraordinary about him, despite Fury’s claims to the contrary. </p><p>But he could never return to his old life.  Even the King believed he was this heir, this Prince Francis, and had sent out a royal warrant on him.  He could never go back while that warrant was in effect, because he would end up either in the castle dungeons, or dead.  And he doubted he would enjoy himself much once he was in custody. Besides, Fury had been correct when he’d said that King Charles would also eventually get that warrant sent out to the other countries, and it would be only a matter of time before it caught up with him.</p><p>This couldn’t be happening. </p><p>All of his life, Clint had felt he hadn’t belonged anywhere.  Even his name was something he’d claimed for himself, because what he’d been called by the Parkers hadn’t seemed <em>right</em>.  He’d changed it the moment he’d set foot outside that farmhouse, dropping his foster name like a bad copper coin, leaving it and whatever past he’d had in the dust.  He’d always believed he was just an ordinary orphan, abandoned by the people who should have loved him, and those were the facts he’d used to create a new identity for himself, and he’d lived with that identity for so long that it was like an old friend now.</p><p>Oh, Clint had always known it wasn’t true, but that hadn’t mattered.  He was Clint Barton now.  It was who he <em>wanted</em> to be…not this Crown Prince Francis, the rightful heir to Waverlyn.  That wasn’t him anymore.  That name belonged to someone who should have died thirty turns ago.  It wasn’t <em>him</em>, and it would <em>never</em> be him, not anymore.  Perhaps if Fury had found him when he’d come to the Parkers after Clint had run away, and could have prepared him, but not now. </p><p>The weight of his new identity settled onto his shoulders like a boulder, heavy and immovable, and he felt it pushing down into the seat and making it impossible to stand.  Clint felt staggered by it, and unable to breathe properly, and the blood was roaring in his ears as his new realty came crashing in around him.</p><p>He was vaguely aware that he was panicking, but Clint didn’t care.  The horror crested over him like a wave, drowning him in its terrorizing potential.  The archer hadn’t ever felt like this before, but then he’d never been told he was the son of a Deity and a King before, so he thought he had a perfect right to give in to it…</p><p>Through the panic, he could feel hands on his shoulders, calloused fingers grasping his, and a familiar voice calling his name through the haze that had crawled up over his mind.  Clint lifted his head – and when had he stopped looking up anyway? – to see Phil’s concerned face staring up at him from where the Aalveyn was kneeling on the floor, Lucky beside him and whining piteously as the dog licked where his and Phil’s fingers were tangled together.  He grasped them tighter, unheeding if he was hurting the other man; Phil didn’t seem to be bothered at all, only worried about Clint himself.</p><p>“There you are,” the Aalveyn murmured, once Clint’s eyes were focused on him.  “Breathe for me, alright?”</p><p>As Phil talked him through taking deep breaths, the archer’s panic attack subsided.  The hands on his shoulders were massaging lightly, another point grounding him once more, and once he had more control he glanced upward and noticed the man who’d been sitting with Melinda standing there, Andrew – and he was now more certain than ever that this was the husband of the <em>Dream</em>’s first mate – smiling down at him sympathetically.</p><p>“Sorry,” he eventually managed to mumble, embarrassment heating his cheeks.  He didn’t dare look around at the other people in the room, certain they were all finding the entire situation funny.</p><p>“No need for that,” Andrew assured him.  “You’ve just found out that you’re not only a prince and the rightful ruler of an entire country, but also half-Deity on your mother’s side.  I’d have been surprised if you <em>hadn’t</em> panicked at least a little bit.”</p><p>It didn’t make the embarrassment fade any, but he was glad that someone understood.</p><p>“That has never happened to me before.”  Clint thought his voice sounded a little thready, but he was sure that was part and parcel of the panic attack he’d just had.</p><p>His eyes darted toward Phil, who was still on his knees in front of him, and he gave his friend as much of a smile he could manage.  “Thanks.”</p><p>“Anytime.”  Phil gave his hands one last squeeze, then released his grip, getting to his feet once more. </p><p>Clint immediately missed their warmth.</p><p>He took a deep breath as the last of the panic subsided.  Oh, he was still quite terrified, but the archer felt he could deal with that better than what had just occurred. </p><p>Andrew patted him on the shoulder, then went to rejoin Melinda where she was still standing behind the chair that the healer had been sitting in before Clint’s little ‘wobbly’.  To his surprise, Melinda’s expression was concerned, and she met his eyes before giving him a small nod in solidarity. </p><p>After that, Clint braved taking a look around the room to the rest of the people.  To a person, they each seemed to understand just what he’d been through, and the mercenary found himself pitifully grateful that they weren’t judging him for his weakness.  Even Fury’s single eye was filled with sorrow and regret, as if he was truly apologetic that he’d uprooted Clint from his life and for dropping him head-first into the mess he now found himself in.</p><p>To his eternal gratitude, no one said a thing about Clint’s panic attack.  Instead, they went right back to the conversation as if they hadn’t been interrupted.</p><p>“The reason Darkness is so diminished,” Fury said, “is that her Avatar was killed in the Massacre, since it only held her essence and wasn’t actually a Deity.  It weakened her enough though that she’s lost some of her grasp on her power, and that caused more of an imbalance as the deal Charles made with Evil did.  Now, I’m not sure what Evil thought of when that bastard approached him with this deal, but it’s certainly made a mess of the Twelve.”</p><p>“So,” Captain Peggy spoke up, “how do we fix it?”</p><p>“Well, first we need to get King Charles off the throne and break the deal he made with Evil.  That should move things back toward normal enough that we can then fix the rest of the world afterward.”</p><p>The man in the glasses – Jasper – snorted.  “You dream big, Nick.”</p><p>“It’ll take some time,” Fury shrugged.  “But I think it can be done.  Eventually.  But we need to put Waverlyn back into balance first.  To do that, we need to depose Charles and put Prince Francis in his place.”</p><p>“But you said we need allies,” the woman with Goose in her lap spoke up.  “If everyone’s already against each other, allies are going to be few and far between.”</p><p>“True,” the Priest allowed.  “However, there’s nothing to say we can’t give the <em>appearance</em> of allies.”</p><p>“That’s not going to do us a lot of good against Chitauri and a Dragon,” the woman with the red streak in her hair pointed out.   “I know we haven’t seen either since the Massacre, but that doesn’t mean King Charles can’t call on them in a pinch.”</p><p>That caused a bit of debate to rise up amongst everyone, and Clint took the opportunity to lean over and ask Phil for names of the people he didn’t already know.  The Aalveyn looked somewhat apologetic.  “I would have thought Nick would have said something.  I’m sorry, Clint.”</p><p>He waved it off.  “It’s fine, honestly.  But I could really use them now.”</p><p>The captain pointed around the room, giving Clint the names he was requesting.  Jasper was Jasper Sitwell, Port Authority for Zephyr Cay.  The blonde woman who was apparently Goose’s favorite person in the world was Carol Danvers, Captain of the militia for the Cay.  Then there were Victoria Hand – the red-streak – and Isabelle Hartley, the local Peace Officers, and then the last was Andrew Garner, whom Clint had already guessed.  He nodded at each name, glad to finally know just who was who. </p><p>He was feeling a bit better, now that he’d had his little fit.  Oh, Clint was no way ready to be a prince of anything, let alone a king, but at least he’d gotten the panic out of his system.  For now.</p><p>Fury once again whistled for silence, which he got.  The archer could understand why he was the one basically in charge; his presence, and his gifts, gave him a step up from anyone else in the room.  It was obvious he’d put a lot of hard work into becoming the center of attention within this little group, and it was pretty impressive.  Nick Fury knew how to play his part, and he did it well.</p><p>“As I said,” the man reiterated, “we need to give the <em>appearance</em> that Prince Francis has allies.  To do that, we need to get the confidence of at least one powerful person from any country, to be a part of the Prince’s entourage.”  He leaned against the mantel, arms crossed.  “Which means we need to bring certain players into the plot.”</p><p>“Just who do you mean?” Steve Rogers asked, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he was expecting some sort of trap.</p><p>Well, it wasn’t like the first mate was going to walk into it.  Clint had already done that.</p><p>“I’ve had rumors come to my attention that Prince Thor of Asgard is in Brittanium.  He might be on the outs with his father, but that doesn’t mean he can’t suit our purposes.”</p><p>That had Jasper Sitwell and Isabelle Hartley nodding, while the others seemed to be at least considering what Fury had proposed. </p><p>Except for Phil, who put in, “And what happens if this works and we get Clint on the throne?  It isn’t as if Prince Thor could actually promise any sort of support from his own country, if his being exiled is true.” He was glaring at Fury, and Clint had to wonder if he’d been the source of the so-called rumors about the Prince of Asgard.  It wouldn’t have surprised him if he had, from certain things he’d heard on his journey to Zephyr Cay.</p><p>First Mate Melinda’s use of the term ‘spymaster’ in regards to Phil had been a pretty big clue.</p><p>“We can help Prince Thor regain his father’s favor,” James answered that.  “The problem with that is, you’ll never get anyone into Brittanium to find the prince in the first place.  The entire country is locked up tighter that a sworn virgin’s underwear.”</p><p>That turn of phrase had Melinda snorting, and Victoria Hand rolling her eyes.  Captain Peggy reached back and smacked her second mate in the flesh and blood shoulder.  Steve, in turn, elbowed him sharply.</p><p>Clint thought it was quite good, himself, and couldn’t help the smile he aimed at the Master of Death.  James caught his eyes and winked.</p><p>“Despite Buck’s colorful turn of phrase,” Steve said, and it took Clint a moment to realize that ‘Buck’ must have been a nickname of some sort, “he has a point.  We were kicked out of port, even though we had a warrant to be there.”</p><p>“We could always get in the same way smugglers do,” Captain Peggy mused, “although the <em>Avenger </em>is quite eye-catching, and wouldn’t be able to hide for very long.”</p><p>“We can use the <em>Dream</em>,” Phil volunteered his ship.  “She’s a trading vessel and won’t stand out.” </p><p>Clint’s heart clenched a little.  That would mean that Phil would be leaving him on Zephyr Cay, and chances were he wouldn’t be seeing the Aalveyn again for a while.  Brittanium was on the other side of Waverlyn, and he thought it would take at least three tendays to get there, and there would be no way of telling how long it would take to hunt down this Prince Thor, plus the trip back.  The archer found himself upset by that, not wanting to part with the man, and yet he knew it would have to be that way.  Clint would need to stay on Zephyr Cay, not only because Fury thought he had gifts that he hadn’t even tapped into yet and wanted to teach him a few things, but because he was technically a fugitive from Waverlyn justice and there was that royal warrant still out for him.   He couldn’t risk falling into his half-brother’s hands.</p><p>Damnit, he had to get his feelings for the handsome Aalveyn under control.  Nothing was ever going to come of them, now that he was supposed to take the Waverlyn throne away from the man who’d murdered his parents.  Could someone really murder a Deity?  What did it mean for a Deity’s Avatar to be killed?  It must have caused <em>some</em> damage, as Darkness was waning.  The archer didn’t know anything about the Twelve, and how things worked with them, and quite honestly he didn’t really <em>want</em> to know. However, he had a feeling he was going to learn more about the Twelve than he’d ever wanted to find out.</p><p>“We can be ready to sail in two days, once we have the word,” Melinda spoke up.  “We still have to re-supply, but that won’t take long.”</p><p>“We would need to find someone from both Wakanda and Sokovia as well,” Captain Carol pointed out.  “And they’re having enough problems on their own.”</p><p>“There’s Wanda and Pietro,” Andrew said, “they’re Dragons and originally from Sokovia, and they owe Phil a blood debt.  They would stand with the Prince if Phil asked them to.”</p><p>“They would,” Phil confirmed, “but they’re still children.  If they have to go up against an older and stronger Dragon, like Garrett the Red is supposed to be…”  He shook his head.  “I can’t ask them to do that.”  He turned toward Clint.  “I’m sorry, but they mean too much to me to put them in that sort of danger.”</p><p>The archer gave him a smile, understanding completely.  “And I won’t ask you to do that, Phil.”</p><p>The Aalveyn looked grateful.  Clint’s heart did a little double thump at that expression, and he silently cursed himself for it.  He wanted to reach out and take Phil’s hand, and his fingers actually twitched…but his friend didn’t seem to notice, thank the Twelve.</p><p>“It might not come to that,” Fury attempted to soothe Phil’s ruffled feathers – pun was not intended, although in Clint’s sight he couldn’t help but notice the sudden flutter from his wings before he blinked and they were gone again.  “But I think that would be up to them, don’t you?”</p><p>Phil’s expression went flat in anger.  “You will not ask them, Nick.  You won’t mention anything about this to them.  They are not to get involved in this.  Am I understood?”  His aura flared for a beat, almost brighter than the sun, and the archer had to look away and blink against the glare. </p><p>Fury didn’t respond to that, instead turning back to the others in the room.  “As for Wakanda…I’ll have to think about that.  They’re pretty much in chaos there, so we’ll see.”</p><p>“So,” Isabella Hartley drawled, “we not only need to find this Asgardian Prince and get him to help, we need to convince highly placed people in Brittanium, Sokovia, and Wakanda to go along with this harebrained scheme?  What about the Hegemony? And what about Aal’valla?  You haven’t mentioned the Aalveyn yet, Nick.”</p><p>“That’s because there’s one person in this room who can do what needs to be done there,” Fury answered.</p><p>He looked straight at Phil.</p><p>Oh, <em>shit</em>.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>If Phil had thought he was angry <em>before</em>, when the twins had been brought up, it was <em>nothing</em> on what he was feeling in that beat.</p><p>How <em>dare</em> Nick bring him into this, in this way?  He <em>knew</em> Phil’s history, one of the few who did, knew exactly why he’d left Aal’valla…Phil was incandescent with rage at this blatant assumption on his old friend’s part.</p><p>And yet, he kept that rage close, not letting it get beyond his control.  One of the very first lessons he’d learned was to control his temper, not to let his gifts show his true emotions, and that very control extended to his face and the physical cues that most people would be showing.  Instead, he simply grew totally still, not moving an inch in his chair, staring up at his friend coldly.</p><p>“No.” </p><p>He would have been happy to do pretty much anything he was asked, but not this.</p><p>Because he knew <em>exactly</em> what Nick wanted him to do; to use the cachet of his clan name and his gifts to…whatever in the Havens his friend actually had in mind.  He didn’t know what that was, but there was no way he was going to set foot back in Aal’valla to do it.</p><p>“Phil,” Nick…no, in that beat, he was Priest Fury, and the Aalveyn couldn’t see him as a friend right now.  “We need to arrange for the Prince to have a Widow as a bodyguard.  Back then, the Widow that the Queen had had, had been a gift from the Red Room and the Aalveyn Clan Council, because of that old treaty they’d had with the Waverlyn royal family.  The problem is, the Aalveyn have changed a lot just in the thirty turns since the Massacre, and there’s no chance in any of the Havens that they’d do that again if we asked.  But, your father is the Chieftain of Clan Coulson, and you’re the most powerful follower of Light born in Aal’valla in generations –”</p><p>“I know,” he snarled, finally letting a little of his anger show.  Because, Fury was correct, in that the binding of a Widow to the Heir of Waverlyn would be a sure sign of favor from the Clan Council.  That the Aalveyn recognized that Clint Barton was, indeed, the true Heir.  It would also give tacit support to Clint, and support his claim.   “How can you even think anyone would listen to <em>me</em>?  I left, Nick, for damned good reasons.  I’m basically a traitor to my own people.  Chances are they’d just as soon kill me as talk to me.  I’m <em>nothing</em> to them.”</p><p>“That’s not true,” Peggy spoke up.  “You stole the Maelstrom Harp, Phil.  You’re the only one who can play it.  They wouldn’t dare kill you because of that.  And you might even have allies there you’re not aware of.”</p><p>He felt as if she’d just betrayed him.  Even more than Nick, Peggy <em>understood</em> why he’d left, had been a witness to some of it, and that he would do anything to keep from going back.  How he’d felt when it had finally come to him what his father had intended, what the Chieftain had <em>wanted</em> to do, because his son had such high favor with Light, even <em>beyond</em> the fact that he was Tal’endi and that fact couldn’t have been used for <em>anything</em>.  His father might have hated his wings, but everything else that went along with his gifts…he could use that to his own benefit, and he hadn’t been afraid to tell Phil <em>exactly</em> that.</p><p>Phil <em>never</em> wanted to be used like that, ever again.  And yet, Nick was asking him to be used once more.</p><p>Yes, it was for Clint, and Phil could admit his feelings for the Human were much deeper than they had any right to be, but there was no way in <em>any</em> of the Havens he was going to walk back into that situation. not if he could absolutely avoid it.</p><p>“It’s more than that,” Melinda spoke up.  He glared at her, willing her mentally to stop what she was about to say.  However, Melinda May had never once been scared of him, and while her respect was something he’d always treasure there was just so far she could go before they would have words.  And he had a feeling she was just about to cross that line.  “He can <em>play</em> it, without letting the power of the Harp getting free.  He has such control over it, he can make music on the thing without any trouble whatsoever.”</p><p>The Aalveyn ground his teeth, wanting to keep his words behind them, knowing he would say something that they would both regret. </p><p>She was right, though.  Phil could play the Maelstrom Harp without letting its incredible power escape.  In fact, it helped him to relax, playing simple tunes upon the Harp, and Melinda had often caught him at it many times over the many turns that they’d sailed together.  There were also the times he’d play for the crew, and Phil had always had an appreciative audience when he did so.</p><p>He just hadn’t expected Melinda to use that against him like that.</p><p>Phil couldn’t react to the looks he was getting; most of them amazed, some contemplative.  He especially didn’t want to see Clint’s reaction because, while the archer’s regard meant a lot to him, he didn’t want to see the same amazement he was getting from most of his would-be friends.  He didn’t want Clint to think of him that way.  </p><p>“Phil,” Nick – and, this time, it <em>was</em> his friend speaking, “I know what it would mean for you to go back.  But we <em>need</em> you.  You’re our only hope of convincing the Clan Council and the Red Room to back this play.  They definitely won’t go along with us in taking back Waverlyn, but the granting of a Widow is within their authority to do.  You have the power, and they’ll respect that power.  And you also have the blessing of Light –”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Phil would have punched Fury in the jaw if he’d been able to finish that sentence.  Instead, Clint had stood, staring down Nick, his face hard and murderous. </p><p>Nick had been about to tell everyone about his being a Tal’endi. </p><p>That was absolutely <em>forbidden</em>.  No one spoke about it, and that had been beaten into him at a very early age.  He only allowed Peggy to be oblique about the subject…in her own way, even though he was now away from that toxic environment and didn’t have to worry about any sort of punishment.  She’d always respected his need to keep it himself, because of the indoctrination he’d received as a child: don’t show the favor of Light, hide it away and not allow anyone to know, because it meant you were racially impure and there would always be others wanting to destroy those who weren’t fully Aalveyn.  It was for his own protection, as well as for the protection of those he loved, that no one could see the wings he’d been born with.</p><p>What he’d come to realize much later was that showing his wings would also damage his father’s power base within the Clan Council.  Well, until his father decided it <em>wouldn’t</em>, because his other gifts far outweighed the ‘inconvenience’ of being Tal’endi, and Phil hadn’t wanted to be that sort of pawn in a game he would have been forced to play if he’d stayed.</p><p>“You don’t get to do that, Fury,” Clint snarled, his fists clenched at his sides.  Standing beside him, Lucky was growling as well, an outside sign of his companion’s anger.  “That’s not your right.”</p><p>This answered the question as to whether Clint knew about what the Aalveyn actually <em>was</em>.  Phil had wondered, and now he knew for certain that the archer had somehow figured it out.  He felt the color rising in his cheeks at the sheer embarrassment of it yet, at the same time, Clint hadn’t said a word.  He’d kept the secret, even from Phil himself, and he knew in that beat that Clint Barton was just about the only person there he could absolutely trust.</p><p>Phil could see the confusion and curiosity among those who didn’t know about him being Tal’endi, and he wasn’t about to enlighten them.  It wasn’t their business, and he didn’t need to share with them the blessing – and the curse – he’d received upon his birth.  They might have been his friends, but what he’d been through outweighed that.</p><p>“Phil –” Fury began.</p><p>“No,” he denied again.  Phil wanted to cry and rant and run out of the room and away from this confrontation, but he held his ground.  “I know what I am, what I can do.  But what you don’t seem to realize is that you can’t have it your way all the time.  You haven’t once asked Clint if this is what he wants, if he wants to be King of Waverlyn, just as you haven’t asked me if it’s your place to share my secrets with everyone.”</p><p>“Marvala is messed up,” Fury tried to explain.  “We have to fix it or else there could be catastrophic consequences.  Not just to us living here, but also to the Twelve.  Darkness has already paid the price for making the attempt.  Can you honestly say we should be saved the trouble of trying when a Deity took the ultimate risk?”</p><p><em>Havens</em>.  Nick knew him too well, was using his sense of duty against him. </p><p>And the worst part of it was, Phil could see his point.  Things were going very badly all across Marvala.  Nick was correct about Darkness and her sacrifice.  She’d come to the world as an Avatar, to be in place when things began to go so horribly wrong, and her Human form had been destroyed in payment for that, weakening her greatly. </p><p>Yet, she’d left behind a son.  A child that might be able to help restore things as they once were.  Yes, Clint wouldn’t be able to do it all, but retaking Waverlyn would be a good start.</p><p>But Nick was asking him to…to do the very thing he’d once swore he’d never do.  To set foot back in Aal’valla, to use his gifts in the same way his father had once wanted to use them, if for a cause that would mean the good of at least Waverlyn.</p><p>And yes, this was the same, and yet completely different.  Back when he’d lived with his clan, his father had been the one to want to use him, to gain power and prestige for the clan.  This would be to help Clint, the man he… well, who was his friend.</p><p>Clint was saying no.  He didn’t want Phil to do it, but the Aalveyn could tell it wasn’t because the archer was shirking his own duty.  He was trying to <em>protect</em> Phil, and his secret, and was giving him a way out of this situation, if he wanted to take it.</p><p>Phil shook his head, but he murmured, “I have to think.”  He couldn’t do it there, not surrounded by people who didn’t know just what he was being asked to do. </p><p>A hand rested on his shoulder, and he looked into Clint’s worried eyes.  “I know what you’re thinking.  Because I’m thinking the same thing.  This isn’t something we ever imagined would happen, and even I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.  But, Phil…no matter my decision, you don’t have to do this.  You do know that, don’t you?”</p><p>Swallowing, the Aalveyn nodded.  He was so pitifully grateful for Clint, for his understanding, and his permission to keep his secret hidden. </p><p>“I have to think,” he repeated.  “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Clint smiled.  “Don’t be sorry.  Go on.” He jerked his head toward the door.  “Get out of here for a bit.  Think about it, and no one in this room,” he gave them all a glare before his eyes returning to Phil’s, the anger leaving them, “will think badly of you, whatever you decide.”</p><p>“Phil –” Nick began.</p><p>“No,” Clint snapped, turning.  “You do not get to pressure him into this crazy plan of yours. You’ve already done enough of that. Do you understand me?”</p><p>In that moment, there was something regal in his face, and Clint Barton was gone, replaced by the rightful King, Francis of Waverlyn, the son of King Harold and his Queen, Edith, the Avatar of Darkness.  Clint might never have known who he was, or where he’d come from, but there was a spark within him, a royal bearing that could never be trained into a person.  It was something that existed within someone who had come from a long line of rulers.  Add into that what he would have inherited from his mother…</p><p>Yes, Clint would make an excellent King.  He just didn’t know it yet.</p><p>Phil didn’t hear Nick’s response.  Instead, he accepted Clint’s advice, to leave so he could <em>think</em>, his thoughts far too muddled with rage at the beat to figure out what he needed to do.</p><p>To fight against his lifelong indoctrination and reveal himself, or to keep hiding. </p><p>He needed to think.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Phil left the room quietly, and Clint followed him with his eyes, worry and anger warring within him.</p><p>He’d seen the uncertainty in his friend’s eyes, and the fear, and the sheer anger.  Just what had been said and done to him, to make him so afraid of showing his true self?  Clint had heard rumors, but those had been stories about how the Tal’endi had chosen to hide themselves and he now considered much of that shit pretty damned apocryphal, just from Phil’s reaction.  He suspected it was something so much worse than any story he’d ever heard, to cause that sort of response from the normally calm and competent man he’d gotten to know over the last two tendays. </p><p>“You don’t have the right,” Captain Peggy was fairly shouting. </p><p>Clint turned away from the once again closed door, to see the Aalveyn woman standing in front of Fury, one finger poking him in the chest, her dark eyes stormy with her own rage.  Everyone else was watching the confrontation, not wanting to get in the way, and the archer could tell just how curious they were about what was going on, what had two of their number so upset.</p><p>Well, except for Melinda.  The <em>Dream</em>’s first mate was as inscrutable as usual, except there was something in her eyes, something <em>knowing</em>, and Clint knew she must have either been one of the very few who’d been aware that Phil was Tal’endi, or she’d guessed just from her knowledge of him and what had been obliquely referred to just now.  In fact, her aura was telling him that she’d very much like to join Captain Peggy in her quarrel with Fury, but was holding herself back out of deference for Phil’s oldest friend having her say first.</p><p>He had to wonder if she’d ever have said anything about the Harp if she’d known the mess it would have caused.  He thought not.</p><p>“How dare you,” Captain Peggy snarled.  “You had to at least have known <em>some</em> of what sort of indoctrination Phil’s been through, at the hands of his own father and his Aalveyn teachers.  You have to <em>know</em> what it means to him to do what you’re asking!  And yet, you practically blackmail him into it, using the very fate of the world as your bargaining tool.”</p><p>“We <em>need</em> him,” Fury insisted.  “We need to fix this, or else the entirety of Marvala will fall into ultimate ruin.”</p><p>Clint stepped up.  “Well, you better come up with another plan, because I’m not going to ask Phil to do anything he doesn’t want to, and that means if he doesn’t want to go back to Aal’valla, then I’m going to stand by his decision.”  He had no real idea what Captain Peggy was talking about, but it sounded pretty dire.  He wasn’t about to make Phil go through that shit again.</p><p>“And there’s something else you haven’t taken into consideration,” Melinda spoke up.</p><p>“And what’s that?” Fury snarked, rolling his single eye.</p><p>“Phil said it:  we don’t know what <em>Clint</em> wants to do.”</p><p>The archer blinked.  To be honest, he’d pretty much thought he didn’t have any choice in the matter.  After all, he had a duty, even if he hadn’t known about it until that day…and that was to be King, even as much as he <em>loathed</em> the idea.</p><p>He also had a perspective into the situation that no one else in the room most likely had.  Clint had traveled extensively, mostly throughout Waverlyn, and had seen just how far the kingdom was falling.</p><p>Ever since King Charles had lost his wife and heir, things had worsened.  Taxes were getting higher and higher and the people were suffering because of it.  Crops were failing, more every turn, due to the loss of Darkness’ blessings upon the land…of course, now Clint knew why that was happening, because of the killing of her Avatar.  Creatures and other ilk were wandering the land, and the roads were no longer safe.  It had been gradually occurring ever since the king had taken the throne, but now… it was as if King Charles’ madness was infecting the kingdom, making it sick.</p><p>He’d long thought things were getting bad.  Now he understood why.</p><p>Charles, his own half-brother, had made a pact with Evil in order to take the throne, murdering his own father and stepmother in the process.  That single act was poisoning everything it touched.</p><p>And there was only one way to stop it from getting any worse.</p><p>“No,” Captain Peggy said, “he’s made his decision.  I can <em>see</em> it.  And we’ll all do what we can to help.”  She stepped away from Fury, backing out of the man’s personal space without giving in to the looming that Fury was doing in her direction. </p><p>The Aalveyn moved to stand in front of Clint.  “In fact, I think Clint deserves the full explanation as to just what Fury is asking Phil to do.  Oh,” she held up a hand to stop him from saying what he was going to, to deny needing to know anything, “I know you feel you don’t <em>need</em> to know, but I think you do.” She then linked her arm with his.  “Let’s just take this elsewhere, and these idiots can come up with a back-up plan that doesn’t involve our friend.”  She gave him a dazzling smile.</p><p>Clint couldn’t deny her.</p><p>To be fair, he really did want to know what Phil had had to go through, before he’d left his home, seemingly for good.  But there was a part of him that was afraid to hear what Captain Peggy was going to tell him, because he just knew it would be bad, and that it would make him love Phil even more than he already did, knowing that it was going to show a strength even beyond what the Aalveyn had already displayed.</p><p>The rather loud discussing began before they’d even left the house.  Lucky, just behind him, gave a disgusted little growl at the noise. </p><p>Clint agreed with the dog completely.</p><p>The captain eschewed the horses, leading Clint up the road and toward the two mountains that overlooked Zephyr Cay, Lucky at their heels, as if this was nothing but a stroll and she wasn’t about to hand him several pieces of information that the hunter knew would most likely change his world <em>again</em>. </p><p>Like he <em>really</em> needed that sort of shit happening again today.</p><p>Captain Peggy kept her arm looped through his, and she was silent until they passed the last of the houses and the road ended in a field where someone had planted rows of winter wheat and corn, their stalks rustling in the breeze coming in from the sea.  There was a farmhouse just down the ruts that indicated wagons traveled back and forth from the farm itself, before meeting the last – or first, however it was looked at – stones of the road heading into Cayside.</p><p>Clint allowed the captain of the <em>Avenger</em> to set the pace, waiting for her to speak.  A bizarre mixture of dread and curiosity tumbled about in his chest, and he was quite certain she could sense it.  Captain Peggy might not be a mind reader, but Clint was guessing that emotions were an open book to her, much like the symbol of the very Deity she had gotten her gifts from. </p><p>“Phil suspected you knew about his wings,” the Aalveyn said as they walked through the field.</p><p>Clint was surprised.  “I thought I’d done a good job hiding that.”  He hadn’t mentioned his ability to see things that were hidden to Phil, so he wasn’t sure how his friend had guessed.</p><p>“He told me he caught you glancing over his shoulder a few times.  He was grateful you never said anything about it.”</p><p>It appeared she wasn’t going to ask about how he’d done it, although it was obvious she wanted to.  Maybe Clint would tell her about it.  Someday.</p><p>The hunter shrugged.  “He was keeping them secret, and there are stories about Tal’endi which I’m beginning to realize were out and out lies.”</p><p>“More than likely, yes.  It’s nothing so simple as wanting to hide.”  She continued to walk, her hand tightening on his bicep slightly.</p><p>It was another couple of ticks before she spoke again, when they were out in the middle of the field and Lucky was lost amidst the tall plants.  He’d make himself known at some point, when he was done exploring their new surroundings.</p><p>“When we were children,” she began, her pleasantly accented voice low, “Phil and I were the best of friends.  Our clan lands bordered each other, so it was natural that we were close.  The very first time I ever saw him, he was playing in the Coulson Clan’s gardens. He hadn’t yet learned to hide his wings as well as his father would have wished, and his mother, who’d been so very good at protecting him from the worst Robert would rain down on him, had just recently passed on.  So, he was confined to the main house and the gardens, where no one would see him if he lost control… well, they hadn’t counted on me.”</p><p>He could hear the smirk in her voice.  Clint could imagine a little girl, sneaking off her own family’s lands, exploring beyond the borders that her own parents had set for her, needing to see what was just past her own limits.</p><p>“I remember when he first noticed me.  I didn’t understand it as a child – we were both only about ten turns old at the time – but now I’m aware of how afraid he was, to know that I’d seen what he was being taught to hide.  You see, when Phil was born, and his father had seen those wings…all he could think was that his only son wasn’t of pure Aalveyn blood.  That the blood of the Deity was in him, that he wasn’t a full Aalveyn despite having two Aalveyn parents.”</p><p>Clint stopped, bringing his guide to a halt as well.  That…he should have expected that, knowing what he did about the Aalveyn and how they looked at anyone who was <em>halva</em>’Aalveyn.  But this… he hadn’t even considered that, that Phil’s own father would believe that a gift from Light would be something to be despised. </p><p>“That…that makes no sense,” he blurted, his heart hurting for the child that Phil had been, unaccepted by the very people that should have loved him. </p><p>“You and I agree,” Captain Peggy said, her dark eyes snapping.  “Long ago, Light blessed an Aalveyn maiden, and the Tal’endi were born from her.  But now, that blessing is looked upon with horror and contempt, because quite a few of the Aalveyn are so wrapped up in what’s pure and impure that a gift like that shows that Phil has the Deity’s blood flowing through his veins, so it instantly makes him a half-blood despite both his parents being full-blooded Aalveyn.  And what made it worse, was that his own father would have been carrying that same blessing in his own veins, even if he hadn’t been born with it.”</p><p>She sighed, and began walking once more.  Clint had no choice but to do the same, if he wanted to keep up with her.  “The thing was, the clans have, for the last three generations, been discussing moving back toward each of the Twelve Clans being dedicated to one of the Deities.  It used to be that way, back during the Fourth Eternity, when the Aalveyn regained the favor of the Twelve after losing it, and the Tal’endi weren’t a part of that, they came later.  So, when Phil had been born with wings…well, that was just one more sign that the Clan Chieftain wanted to hide, even though the Coulson Clan had been aligned with Light from the beginning, and the Tal’endi had been accepted within their ranks ages ago.”</p><p>Clint wanted to shiver.  He couldn’t even imagine someone not being proud of their child, marked with favor by one of the Twelve.  Phil’s father should have been pleased that his clan had such a close link to Light. </p><p>He said so, and Captain Peggy nodded.  “Once again, I agree, but that’s not how things work in Aal’valla anymore.  It’s mostly about racial purity and going back to the old ways, although I will admit not everyone feels that way, unless things have changed drastically since I left.  And they were talking about realignment…the problem is, is that the clans are all so muddied now in their genealogies that what they’re proposing is going to be practically impossible.  From what I’ve heard, there are those on the Council who can see that, but they’re pretty much equal in number by the ones who want things to go back to the way they were.   They can’t seem to gain a majority to put the actual plan into effect, or set it to rest once and for all.” </p><p>“That makes no sense.”  That seemed to be his refrain for this explanation.</p><p>She shrugged.  “Many of mine and Phil’s generation have pretty much given up on our home country because of it…and other things going on, of course, because it’s not just that and politics aren’t really my forte.  Nearly every Aalveyn you’ve seen out there in the world are like us, the ones who don’t agree with the prejudice and hatred, and believe that, as a people, the Aalveyn need to advance instead of moving backward.  We’ve tried to change things at home, and as a one we’ve come to realize that it will never be repaired until the older generations are gone.”</p><p>“You said this has been going on for three generations.”  Clint did some quick math in his head and, given that an Aalveyn generation was at least thirty times longer than a Human’s…yes, that really <em>was</em> a long time.</p><p>“Probably longer, but that’s as long as the current Council has been in power, and how long this hare-brained scheme has been in motion…”  She sighed, stopping her forward momentum, turning to face Clint squarely.  “But like I said, unless things have changed drastically, but I’ve seen no sign of that having happened, and the few Aalveyn who’ve traveled beyond the borders and are happy to return once their business is done, are arseholes who won’t talk to someone who deliberately left for good.”</p><p>“But there’s more.”  It was obvious from the expression on her face.</p><p>Her dark eyes were sad.  “Oh, yes.  Much more.”  The captain took a deep breath.  “When Phil was around two hundred, his father took him to show him the Clan treasures.  You see, he’d given up on having another child; after Phil’s mother passed there hadn’t been another marriage, so Phil was still Heir to the Clan seat.  By then, Phil had learned perfect control of his wings, and there was only a handful who knew about them, so Chieftain Robert – Phil’s father – felt safe enough to start training him in his role as Clan Chieftain.  And that included knowing about the treasures.”</p><p>“Is that how he found out about the Maelstrom Harp?”</p><p>Captain Peggy smiled.  “Indeed.  He confided in me that the Harp called to him, and he answered it.  It was one more thing that hadn’t happened in generations and, to Chieftain Robert, it was one more thing that pointed toward Phil carrying Light’s favor…but this was one he could work with.”  She turned away, glancing toward the closer of the two mountains.  Clint followed her gaze, and he could just barely make out a crimson splotch against one flank, knowing it was one of the Dragons that was there.  The second, the silver one, was visible against the blue of the sky, heading toward town.</p><p>“What people don’t understand, is that just being able to use the Harp doesn’t prove mastery over it.  What <em>does</em>, is being able to play it without letting its power escape.  Being strong enough to keep it under control while you’re playing a simple tune is that proof.”</p><p>Melinda had said the same thing, back in the meeting.  Clint nodded.  “I’ve seen him do that. A couple of times, on the trip here.  He played for the crew.” </p><p>He was literally in awe in that beat.  Because that made so much sense.  Letting the Harp’s enchantment out would have been easy; keeping it in check would have been difficult.  He’d thought just the opposite, on those nights when Phil brought the Harp up out to perform, usually at someone’s insistence.  He played beautifully, and the archer smiled as he remembered the dancing that one such performance had started, Daisy pulling him up and making him dance with her a snappy jig that had had Clint laughing even as the jaunty movements of the dance had taken his breath away.</p><p>And his aura had been so very beautiful…</p><p>He also could pinpoint that night as the one when he finally realized that he had feelings for the Aalveyn captain.  As he’d danced around the deck with Daisy, he’d glanced over to see Phil sitting on a coiled pile of rope, his foot tapping and his head tilted downward to watch his fingers fly over the Harp’s strings.  Phil had glanced upward to watch, and the happy smile on his face had done more to stop Clint’s breathing that the vigorous dance had.</p><p>Of course, that was also the night he’d made a complete fool out of himself because the crew had tried to get him drunk, but that was neither here nor there.   Although that had been when he’d realized that Phil didn’t feel the same way about him.</p><p>Captain Peggy was watching him now, her smile small yet poignant.  She took his hand, the sword calluses on her fingers rough against the skin, and yet they weren’t unpleasant.  He’d gotten his own set from using his bow. </p><p>“I can sense how you feel about him,” she murmured. </p><p>When Clint opened his mouth to deny it, nothing came out because he knew he wouldn’t be able to with her.  She was reading his emotions too easily.</p><p>“You should know that he feels the same way.”</p><p>He wanted to doubt her, because Phil hadn’t shown any partiality toward him, and in fact had put that same distance between himself and Clint that he had the rest of his own crew, but she would know better than anyone. </p><p>“The thing is, Phil has been in self-protective mode for so long, that he’s made the decision never to love anyone with a shorter lifespan than his own, wanting to spare himself the heartbreak when they passed.  The problem with that is nearly everyone he’s surrounded himself with will, in fact, die before he does, which I’m sure you’ve noticed how he’s distanced himself from others.  Well, there are exceptions but, on the whole…but you, I can see he’s already broken that vow, even if he won’t admit it to himself.  He loves you, Clint.  And you love him, as well.”</p><p>Damn, that was <em>awful</em>.  That knowledge made everything so much worse, and explained the things he’d seen on the trip there.  Still… </p><p>“But nothing can happen,” he whispered.  “I’m supposed to be King of Waverlyn and, if this plan works, I’ll need a Queen so I can have an heir.  The last time I checked, that was something rulers did…” he shrugged, really not wanting to feel sorry for himself but failing at it.</p><p>“I understand.” He could tell that she did, indeed, understand.</p><p>“So,” he cleared his throat.  “I thought you and Phil were sort of promised to each other?”</p><p>She accepted the change of subject easily.  “We were.  And, what we said on the docks was accurate, that I was simply not his type, and I wasn’t interested in him other than as an unofficially adopted brother, which made the very idea of us being lovers gross.  But what put the final nail in that coffin was when Phil played the Maelstrom Harp for the first time.  He was Light, and I was Good, and that wasn’t about to breed any of the right sort of babies for the clan.   The marriage was off, and Chieftain Robert would have gone in search of a powerful follower of Light in hopes he could gain a pure-blood Aalveyn child from the deal.  In the meantime, with Phil’s mastery of the Harp, he hoped to build upon the cachet of the Coulson clan by announcing that his only son was a Maelstrom Harper.”</p><p>“And Phil didn’t want to play those games.”</p><p>It was obvious to Clint now, why Phil had left home.  He’d touched on it a little during the voyage, but the archer hadn’t really gotten a clear answer to that particular puzzle.  It made sense that the Aalveyn wouldn’t have wanted to be used as a pawn in his father’s chess match, and to leave and take the source of those machinations with him, which was the Maelstrom Harp. </p><p>“Exactly.”  The captain beamed at him.  “There was no way, after everything his father had already put him through because of the wings, that Phil was going to let him get away with that.  Any tiny shred of affection that Chieftain Robert had shown after that, as far as Phil was concerned, was a total sham.  As soon as he could, he left and took the Harp with him.  About ten turns later, I followed.  He was the beginning of the exodus of the young people who were tired of all the infighting and the manipulation.”</p><p>Clint was angry on Phil’s behalf. Sure, the archer hadn’t had much in the way of family, but at least the Parkers had cared in their own way.  It wasn’t their fault that he hadn’t felt like he’d belonged and had left as soon as he could, taking a new name and making his way as a mercenary.</p><p>But, Phil…he’d been nothing but a tool for a father who only cared about prestige and power.  No wonder he didn’t want to go back.</p><p>“But it wouldn’t work,” he protested.  “Phil going back and revealing his wings.  If they considered even him <em>halva</em>’Aalveyn, how would that make them do what he’d want them to do?”</p><p>“Because even with the whole half-blood thing, the Aalveyn would recognize that Phil has been blessed.  They want to become closer to the Twelve by aligning the clans once more, and Light’s blessing could be seen as them being on the right path.  There are ways to spin it, Clint.  It could even get Chieftain Robert into trouble if it came out that he’d purposely suppressed a blessing given by one of the Twelve.  But, at the same time, he could be lauded for ‘getting rid’ of the taint within his own clan.  Honestly, it could go either way, and I am perfectly fine with Phil not getting into that hornet’s nest.”</p><p>Clint could understand.  The very last thing he wanted was for Phil to be hurt in any way, and sending him back to Aal’valla could do that.  He’d left for very good reasons, and the mercenary wasn’t about to push his friend back into that situation.</p><p>“And what about you?  You seem to have accepted that you’ve a new duty to fulfill.”</p><p>The archer reached back and rubbed the back of his neck.  “The last thing I want is to be king,” he admitted, “but I’ve traveled a lot in Waverlyn, and I’ve gotten a first-hand look at what’s going on there.  It’s only gonna get worse, and the only way to fix it seems to be removing the king.  So, yeah…I’ve accepted it.  I don’t like it, but it needs to be done.”</p><p>In truth, he absolutely <em>hated</em> the idea of being king.  There wasn’t anyone less kingly than him.  He was rough, hadn’t really had much formal education besides learning to read from the <em>Book of the Eternities</em> and some pretty basic mathematics and history that he learned from school, had no manners at all, and wouldn’t know diplomacy if it bit him in the ass. </p><p>“You know,” she smiled, “that makes you the perfect person to be king.”</p><p>“You mean, me not actually wanting the job?”</p><p>“Exactly.  Look at what happened to the last person who wanted it?  They made a deal with Evil, massacred a lot of innocent people, and slowly destabilized an entire kingdom.  I’d say that doesn’t count a lot in his favor, don’t you?”</p><p>Despite himself, Clint laughed.  Maybe she had a point.  Maybe he really <em>was</em> the person Waverlyn needed.  After all, he understood the needs of those not in power, those who were at the mercy of the problems that Waverlyn was experiencing.  That knowledge would give him the best chance to fix it.</p><p>“And what is this Widow thing, anyway?” he asked, changing the subject once more.  He’d heard of the near-mythical band of Aalveyn assassins, but he’d never seen one.  That made sense, since the Aalveyn were becoming more and more insular as the turns went on.</p><p>“Having a Widow as your personal bodyguard would do two things,” the captain explained. “It would prove you are a legitimate heir to the Waverlyn throne; and would show that there was at least <em>tacit</em> approval of your claim from both the Red Room and the Clan Council.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”  How would that show that he should be king?  That didn’t make sense to him.</p><p>“Widows are only gifted to Human royalty under a treaty between Aal’valla and Waverlyn.  From what I understand – and I might be wrong, but I don’t think I am – is that there’s some of checks and balances about it, and a high-ranking Aalveyn has to put the choice to both the Clan Council and the Head of the Red Room, the training arena for all Widows.  So, you would need Phil to get you in front of the Council if you would have any chance at all.  Then the Head of the Red Room would have to agree as well.”</p><p>Clint thought about that for a tick.  So, having that sort of support would not only cement his claim, but to get that support he would have to force Phil to do something he didn’t want to do.  Well, that decision was an easy one to make: don’t do it.  Don’t make Phil go back to Aal’valla, to give a show of power, and then make the Council rule on it.  It simply wasn’t worth it. </p><p>However…</p><p>“What would happen if we went straight to this Head of the Red Room?” he asked.  “Bypass the Clan Council completely?”</p><p>Captain Peggy blinked.  “I…I’m not sure.  I shall be honest, I’m not up on the current political culture of Aal’valla, so I’m uncertain as to the relationship between the Clan Council and the Red Room. And I doubt we’d be able to discover that unless we were in the actual country itself.  That sort of thing wouldn’t be widely known.”  Then she smiled.  “You’re thinking if the Red Room doesn’t hold to the same beliefs as the Council…”</p><p>“That they wouldn’t have any problem going against anything they might decide.  Because, let’s face it… the chances of me being granted a Widow is really minute, even with Phil trying to pull some weight in favor of the idea.  I’m Human, and that means I’m considered inferior to a lot of the Aalveyn we’d have any sort of contact with.”</p><p>“You’re right, of course.  Much to my shame.” Her expression was a combination of embarrassed, angry, and disdainful of her people.</p><p>He quickly reassured her that it wasn’t her fault.  He quite liked her, and thoroughly enjoyed the idea that she’d taken <em>two</em> Human lovers.  That was more than enough to prove that she wasn’t like her kin. </p><p>“I’m also not certain of the Red Room’s outlook on other Races,” she went on.  “Although, if one was willing to be gifted to the Queen of Waverlyn, one that looked very Human…”</p><p>“They might go along with it,” the archer finished.</p><p>“We would certainly need more information,” Captain Peggy proclaimed.  “For that, we’ll have to go back to Nick and ask.  He may very well have a way to find out.”</p><p>“I’m not happy with him for what he almost did to Phil.”  That was a bit of an understatement.  Clint was still really pissed off at the priest for nearly outing his…friend…as a Tal’endi.  Fury really had had no right to do that, not even if he thought it was for the best for Marvala, not without the Aalveyn’s permission.  Especially if he also knew just what Phil had gone through as a child.</p><p>“Neither am I,” she admitted, “but he’s the one we’ll need to speak with.  And I’m quite sure we wouldn’t be the only ones irritated at him.  Melinda has been Phil’s friend for turns and, while it might have seemed like she agreed with Nick, she really didn’t.  Trust me when I say she’ll have her own say when the time is right.”  She sighed.  “Phil hadn’t even confided in her about the wings.  Although, I’m certain she’s guessed it by now.  She’s a very canny individual.”</p><p>Clint had to agree with that assessment of Melinda May.</p><p>Then, she tucked her hand back around Clint’s bicep once more.  “What do you say about us going back and getting more information?  See if your idea has merit?”  Captain Peggy gave him a brilliant smile, and Clint found himself capitulating.</p><p>Not that it was a big deal.  He was curious as well, and anything that kept Phil from having to deal with his own people again was worth trying. </p><p>So, he whistled for Lucky, and they headed back toward the priest’s house.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Phil left the meeting, his ire making him want to slam the door on his way out, and yet he stopped himself from doing just that.  He didn’t want to give Nick the satisfaction of seeing his temper flare any more than it already had.</p><p>How dare Nick think he could just pass around his deepest secret without asking!  Thank the Deities for Clint, who put a stop to it before it could actually come to pass.  Once again, it made him realize that Clint had known all along, that he’d seen something with those fantastic eyes of his, and yet hadn’t said a thing about it, understanding it was private and not his place to bring it up.  It made the Aalveyn’s heart lurch a little, that the archer cared enough to hold Phil’s secrets as his own and was willing to stand up to Nick over it. </p><p>Deities, the longer he spent around Clint and getting to know him, the deeper he fell.</p><p>He thought about taking his horse, but decided he needed to do something else instead.  Phil headed toward the first copse of trees and, when he reached it – there was a smallish group of older trees to the rear of Nick’s house, where sometimes the priest would worship – he did something he didn’t usually do.</p><p>Phil stripped off his tunic and let his wings out. </p><p>They flared out from his body, white and silver-grey, their weight suddenly a very real sensation pulling him slightly off balance.  He wasn’t used to this, to them being physically attached instead of cut off from him; that wasn’t to say he didn’t feel them when they were hidden, it was just that he felt them <em>more</em> when they were present.  Phil had had all the lessons when he’d been a child, about how the wings were more a part of him when they were ‘solid’ and not ‘metaphysical’, and could only affect the real world when like this, out and present, wind rushing through the feathers gently, ruffling them a little as Phil opened them to full extension.</p><p>As a boy, he’d wondered why they were considered a curse when every lesson he’s had about the Deities and their history said they were a blessing from Light.  It was a dichotomy he’d never been able to reconcile, and had eventually come down on the side of them being a curse, one that made him an outcast amongst his own people, at least by thought if not by deed.</p><p>Until he’d made an outcast of himself, physically.  And he’d never once looked back, not regretted that decision.</p><p>Nor had he manifested his wings, except on a few occasions.  This was the first time he’d done so in at least five turns and, while a part of him knew it wasn’t healthy to leave them hidden for so long, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it more often.  The indoctrination he’d received by his father and his teachers had taken root within his very soul, until it became so bad that he’d sometimes found himself wishing that Light hadn’t singled him out. </p><p>Phil understood that this very thought was blasphemy, but he couldn’t help it.  He hoped the Deity realized it was due to his own people and their ways, and nothing that Light himself had done.</p><p>A shadow passed overhead, and Phil hid his wings once more, even though he knew exactly what had cast it.  He was pulling on his tunic when Wanda landed next to him, her own wings blowing the leaves of the trees aside as she settled onto the ground, the clearing just large enough for both of them.</p><p>Wanda was still young for a Dragon – only about two hundred turns – which meant she hadn’t hit her full growth yet.  Her body was the size of a large horse, not counting her long, sinuous neck, her whip-like tail, and her wings.  Her scales glittered crimson in the sunlight, bright and sharp.  She was truly beautiful, and would grow even larger over the next thousand turns. </p><p>Phil couldn’t help the soft smile as she twisted her neck around in order to drop her head down next to his, giving his cheek a rub with her jaw, the tiny scales slick against his skin.  “You didn’t need to put them away,” she rumbled into his ear. </p><p>Of course, Wanda and her brother, Pietro, were two of the few who knew about him being Tal’endi; they were also members of the very select group to have actually seen them.  Both Dragons were creatures of Fire, but they relied on Light for the air beneath their wings, and could recognize a being of Light when they saw one. </p><p>He’d found them when they’d both been so tiny, he could carry them both in his arms easily.  Wanda and Pietro had been orphaned, although neither twin could say what had happened to their parents, they’d been that young.  It had been sheer luck – which he’d given offerings to Chaos for it – that he’d found them, about to be killed by a Human claiming to be a Dragon Slayer.  It had been proof that things weren’t going well between the Dragons and the Humans of Sokovia; it had been Phil himself who’d brought back that information to Nick, along with two traumatized young Dragons who’d imprinted upon him the moment he’d saved them, crawling into his arms with such trust that the Aalveyn had been humbled by it. </p><p>He didn’t say anything.  Instead, Phil cupped a hand at the base of her jaw, giving her a good scratch.  Wanda giggled, which was an odd sound coming from a Dragon, and then pulled her head away to look at him with those dark eyes that saw so much.  “What’s wrong?”  She had a faint accent, one that spoke of her Sokovian heritage even though she hadn’t been back to her home since Phil had taken her and her brother away.</p><p>Of course she’d noticed he was bothered about something.  “Oh, it’s Nick and his schemes.  I needed to get away.”</p><p>“Then let me get you even further away.” </p><p>With that, she knelt, extending one of her well-muscled front legs.  Phil knew exactly what she was saying, and he easily vaulted from that leg and onto her back, his legs tucked under the joints where her wings connected to her body.  He’d ridden dragonback before, and was looking forward to it.</p><p>With a powerful flex, Wanda was aloft, her wings beating against the pull of the earth, propelling them into the clear sky.  A part of Phil would always enjoy flying, while another whispered to him that he could always do this, not have to rely on another for this pleasure, if only he could trust others around him and expose his deepest secret.</p><p>Although, he’d never once flown under his own power.  He didn’t know <em>how</em>, or even if his wings were capable of carrying his own weight.  Chances were, he’d never learn.</p><p>Wanda flew him up to the mountain, where she and Pietro often stayed when Phil wasn’t in town.  He’d told them both often that they were welcome in his back yard whenever they wanted, but they both chose the caves that riddled the larger of the two mountains on Zephyr Cay, saying they both felt odd being at the house when he wasn’t there.  The Aalveyn figured it was a part of their Dragon nature, to live in caves like their kin did in Sokovia, and let them be.</p><p>It didn’t take them long to get there.  Phil was grateful that Wanda had shown up; he was less likely to be found up on the mountain than he would have been hanging around Nick’s place.  And, honestly, he didn’t want to be found.  He needed time, and this would give it to him.</p><p>Pietro was sprawled across the twin’s favorite perch halfway up the mountain, a ledge in front of a wide-mouthed cave that led deep into the mountain, and he rose when they approached.  Pietro was a little larger than his sister, his scales a glittering silver, shifting like water when he moved.  He claimed to be a couple of ticks older than his sibling, which made Wanda roll her eyes every single time, but of the two it was Wanda who had more wisdom and was more of a calming influence than her brother. </p><p>“Phil,” Pietro greeted him as he slid off Wanda’s back.  He didn’t do the cheek rubbing that Wanda had; the Aalveyn was convinced that Pietro was at the age that such shows of affection were awful, like a young boy just entering adulthood and hated getting hugs from his parents because he thought such displays were gross.  Phil didn’t mind, because he knew how the young Dragon truly felt about him.  “We came down to your house but you weren’t there.”  He sounded vaguely accusatory, but the Aalveyn didn’t take offense.</p><p>“That’s because Nick had me running his errands for him.”  A part of Phil wanted to tell them everything, but he knew they’d want to be involved, and that was the very last thing he wanted.  He want to even think about these two going up against Garrett the Red; they would do it, if he asked. But that would be the quick way of getting them injured, or even killed.  He wasn’t about to risk them, they were still children.</p><p>“They must have been some errands, if they have disturbed you so greatly,” Wanda murmured.</p><p>That made Pietro look at him closely, and Phil wanted to duck his head to avoid the scrutiny.  While neither Dragon had any sort of connection to Good, at least Wanda was discerning enough to see that something was, indeed, bothering him.  Pietro might not have that same discernment, but he trusted his sister to see what he couldn’t.</p><p>“Is there something we can do to help?” Pietro asked solicitously.</p><p>“No,” the Aalveyn answered.  “It’s just…I need a little time to process some things I’ve learned today, and Wanda suggested we come here.” </p><p>The two Dragons glanced at each other and, with a shake of his head, Pietro launched himself off the ledge and toward town.  Phil wanted to shake his head as well; the Dragons might have been young, but they still had sense enough to know when one of them wasn’t going to be helpful in certain situations.  And, while Phil loved Pietro as much as he loved Wanda, he was much too frenetic in his movements to be anything but relaxing to be around. </p><p>Wanda, however, knew how to be silent.  Once Pietro was gone, she curled up on the ledge, not making a sound beyond the slight rustling of her movements as she settled, beckoning him forward to sit against her.</p><p>Phil didn’t want to accept.  Usually, he was the one giving comfort, not the other way around.  It went against his sensibilities to go to someone else for that sort of thing.  However, he could take it when it was offered, even if he didn’t much care for it, if just to make the offerer not feel rejected.  If there was anything he understood, it was being rejected, and he didn’t want that to happen to anyone else if he could help it.</p><p>“Let your wings out,” Wanda urged, “and relax.”</p><p>Honestly, letting his wings out wasn’t the way to get him to relax, but he couldn’t ignore the request simply because it had been so long since he’d done it without threat of discovery.  And yet, turns and turns of hiding and pretending were hard to ignore, and he didn’t do it.  Instead, he accepted the invitation to sit and lean against Wanda’s warm side, and if she sniffed a little at his lack of acquiescence to her suggestion he wasn’t going to mention it.</p><p>But that was the problem, wasn’t it?  If his father hadn’t been ashamed of him in the first place, that despite the fact that his wings were a blessing of Light and not because of the reminder that his family was descended from Tal’endi and were thus not pure blood, he wouldn’t be so reluctant to let this secret out.  To let Nick play upon his closeness to Light, to go back to Aal’valla and do what his friend wanted him to do…</p><p>Although, if there hadn’t been that conditioned shame, Phil would never have left home in the first place, he was fairly certain.  He would have been content to be trained under his father’s tutelage to become the Clan Chieftain after the elder Aalveyn was gone, taking on the responsibilities of Clan and Race. </p><p>How would he have turned out then?  Would he have been content to marry an Aalveyn woman who followed his alignment, in order to breed children who also followed Light?  Would he have become as stuffy as the majority of his kin, thinking himself so much better than others?  Would he have gained the prejudices that were now a hallmark of many of the Aalveyn, looking down on the other Races of Marvala as if they didn’t matter as much as a full-blood Aalveyn?</p><p>Phil shuddered.  That really didn’t bear thinking about.</p><p>“Do you wish to talk to about it?”</p><p>Of course, Wanda would have noticed that small, involuntary movement; after all, he <em>was</em> leaning against her.  “Just thinking about ‘what might have been’s,” he answered, wanting to go for a light tone and failing pretty miserably.  After all, it wasn’t a subject he considered all the time and, on the whole, he was fairly happy with his life…well, perhaps not happy, but at least content.  He had his friends – even though one had acted like an ass not that long ago – and his crew, which he thought of as family.  And, if he never set one foot back on Aal’valla again he would be extremely pleased.</p><p>Then there was Clint, and the feelings for the archer that were a dark stain on that contentment.</p><p>Phil wasn’t about to dwell on <em>that</em>, either.</p><p>“Just what did Nick ask you to do that has you so bothered?”</p><p>She was trying another tack.  Usually, Wanda was quite happy to just be silent and let him think, but today it seemed as if the Dragon was going for answers.  At least she was doing it delicately, unlike her brother who had the delicacy of an anvil to the face.</p><p>The thing was Phil <em>wanted</em> to discuss it with someone.  That he actually <em>needed</em> to, but this was Wanda, who was still a child in Dragon turns and, to be honest, was like a daughter to him in the same way Daisy felt, and he’d adopted both Dragons as his own.  He’d raised her and Pietro on <em>Lola’s Dream </em>until they’d grown too big to go sailing any longer, and could look after themselves.  They still stayed with him when he was onshore, roosting in his backyard in the nest he’d made for them.  He loved them fiercely, and wanted to protect them from Nick’s schemes as much as he wished he could do Clint…only Clint could look after himself. </p><p>Clint was the rightful King of Waverlyn which, in fact, made the archer much less of Phil’s responsibility than ever.</p><p>Phil sighed.  Hiding things from Wanda was a sure way of getting a disapproving look from her… and her disapproving looks were almost as deadly as Steve’s.  Besides, perhaps talking about it would help him get his own thoughts in order. </p><p>“Nick wants me to go back to Aal’valla, show them my wings, and have the Clan Council do something that Nick wants them to do.”  There.  That was as simple an explanation as he could give, and it kept Clint out of it for now.</p><p>Wanda was silent for a beat.  “Perhaps it would help me to understand just why this is a bad thing.”</p><p>Phil mentally cursed himself.  Of course.  He’d never really gone into much detail about why showing his wings off was a bad idea; in matter of fact, he’d done all he could to duck the question whenever one of the twins asked it.  He’d only requested of them not to share the fact that he even <em>had</em> wings, without actually explaining <em>why</em>.</p><p>Perhaps it was time.</p><p>So, he told Wanda about the Aalveyn.  A lot of it she already knew: their prejudice, and pride, and how they felt about the half-bloods among them, let alone the other Races.  He told her that, despite the fact that his wings were a blessing from Light, that there were Aalveyn that would consider him <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn, and that he’d long been taught to hide that part of himself by his father. </p><p>At the end of his explanation, he could tell Wanda was upset by the slight quivering in her hide as he rested against her.</p><p>“That makes no sense!” she exclaimed.  “I should be proud to have been given a blessing by Fire!”</p><p>“It’s how my people are.”  Phil shrugged.  He didn’t add that both Wanda and Pietro were blessings to <em>him</em>, gifts that Fire and Chaos had put in his path, to raise as his own.</p><p>“Yes, I can see why you hide your true self now.  Which is sad, as both Pietro and I have often wished you could fly beside us.” </p><p>Phil hadn’t thought of that before, and found himself wondering if he could have done that anyway.  Not that he had any experience with flying, and would most likely crash land if he tried.  If he was able to launch himself off the ground high enough to actually crash, that was.   </p><p>“Phil, how many people know about your wings?”</p><p>The Aalveyn considered.  “You mean, outside of Aal’valla?”</p><p>“Yes.  Of your friends, who knows of them?”</p><p>“Well, there’s Nick, of course.  And Peggy.  My cousin Pepper, in Waverlyn.  You and Pietro.  And Clint.”</p><p>“Clint?” Wanda sounded puzzled.</p><p>“You haven’t met him yet.  I’ll have to introduce you.”  That should be an interesting meeting. </p><p>“And that is all?” she was disbelieving.  “No one else?”</p><p>“That’s it.”  It was too many, if Phil had to admit it.  It gave them all a power over him that he didn’t want anyone to have, even though he trusted each person who knew the truth about him. </p><p>Well, except for Nick at the beat.  After all, his friend had been about to reveal his secret to all and sundry in that meeting about Clint and what they were going to do to fix the world.</p><p>Fix the world.  That sounded far too crazy, even in his thoughts.</p><p>“Not even Daisy?”</p><p>Phil opened his mouth to answer her, and then couldn’t.  Because, if anyone would understand what it meant to be a half-blood, it was Daisy.  She didn’t even know which of her parents were Human ad which was Aalveyn.  She’d been abandoned as a baby, and had grown up believing she hadn’t been good enough for either of them to want to keep her. </p><p>“Not even Daisy.”  His words were hesitant, because he felt somewhat ashamed of not having told the young woman he considered a member of his clan.  Daisy would <em>understand</em>.</p><p>And yet, she’d have been trying to convince him to reveal himself.  Daisy wasn’t ashamed of her heritage, and was opening scornful of the Aalveyn who were ‘too snooty to accept anyone on their merits, and not because they weren’t pure-blood’. </p><p>He’d even heard that in Daisy’s voice.  Phil smiled wryly at the realization.</p><p>“You have to know that none of your friends would judge you as your own family did,” Wanda pointed out. </p><p>Phil pondered that, and knew she was correct.  Not a single person who counted him as a friend would consider him less than themselves if he was to suddenly reveal the wings, the blessing of Light.  Peggy had said as much to him over the turns, but had hadn’t listened…and now, Wanda, who was still considered a child in Dragon terms, was telling him the same.  If a youngster could make that observation…</p><p>Perhaps there was something in it, after all.</p><p>“However,” the Dragon went on, “I cannot see where it would do anyone the least amount of good for you to show up in Aal’valla, manifest your wings, and think the Aalveyn will do whatever you want, no matter who your father is.”</p><p>“And this is what Nick doesn’t seem to understand,” he agreed.  “Standing in front of the Clan Council and demand what Nick wants with my wings out isn’t going to gain us anything.”  It didn’t matter about the treaties between the Aalveyn and the Humans.  Phil’s very presence in the Council Chamber would be seen as an affront to their Aalveyn heritage if he revealed himself.  His father had had it right, at least in that part.</p><p>“Then, you must think of a way to do what Nick wants without doing that very thing.”</p><p>Phil blinked.  Was it that simple? </p><p>He could certainly see the need to gain a Widow to walk at Clint’s side.  Nick was correct about that; it would give Clint more than a hint of legitimacy in his quest for the throne of Waverlyn, and also be seen as tacit approval by the Aalveyn that the archer truly was the proper heir.  It wasn’t that he believed that Clint needed a bodyguard.  After all, he’d taken on seven deathstrikes and survived.  No, it wasn’t for protection…it was the very symbol of having a Widow under your command, being able to say that the premier assassins in the world were standing with the would-be King of Waverlyn.  Not even King Charles had a Widow at his side. </p><p>So, if Phil couldn’t show that particular blessing to the Clan Council…</p><p>He had other blessings he could bring to the fore.</p><p>He was a Maelstrom Harper. </p><p>The first in generations. </p><p>Phil began to smile.  Why hadn’t he thought of that before?  Only someone strong in the favor of Light could play the Harp without causing massive destruction; Melinda had been correct about that, as pissed off as he still was somewhat at her having pointed it out in front of everyone else.  And that was something the Aalveyn could do quite well and, in fact, enjoyed playing the Harp for his friends.  Why shouldn’t he show up in the council chamber and give the Clan Chieftains a recital of their own?</p><p>As for Wanda’s comment about letting his friends and family see his wings…</p><p>That would take some more thought.</p><p>Of course, doing this would break that vow he’d made never to set foot in Aal’valla ever again.  However, this was for Clint, and he was quickly coming to the conclusion that there wasn’t a lot he wouldn’t do for the Human. </p><p>Phil stood, stretching a little.  Wanda was looking at him intently, her dark eyes scrutinizing.  “And what have you decided?”</p><p>“I believe I have a plan that doesn’t involve me manifesting my wings.”</p><p>She gave him the Draconic version of a smile, which was all sharp teeth that would have looked fierce if the Aalveyn hadn’t seen it before and understood what it was.  “And will you at least think about letting your family in on your secret?”</p><p>“I’ll think about it, but I can’t promise anything.”  All of that childhood indoctrination would take some effort to disregard, and he didn’t know if he was strong enough. </p><p>“That will be enough.”  Wanda stood up on her four legs.  “Now, should I fly you back to Nick’s?  Or will you fly under your own power?”</p><p>Phil rolled his eyes, and didn’t say anything.  He wasn’t ready to reveal himself…if he ever would be.  And Wanda knew that.</p><p>She snorted, warm air ruffling Phil’s hair.  Wanda then knelt and extended one front leg, in order to give him a lift up onto her back.</p><p>Once he was seated, a powerful flexing of muscles sent them into the sky, Wanda circling around and then aiming toward town. </p><p>Phil was glad that the residents of Cayside were used to having two Dragons in the skies over the town, or else someone would have most likely shot at them or something.</p><p>Still, as he leaned over Wanda’s shoulders, watching the ground flow past, Phil had to wonder what it would be like to fly under his own power.  To go where he wanted, and not have to rely on his Dragon foundling to take him where he wanted to go.  To feel the wind flowing around his wings, the stretch of his muscles, the sheer joy of flight. </p><p>It was dangerous to think that way.</p><p>He just couldn’t help himself.  Not now, when the idea had been brought up.</p><p>Phil found himself feeling conflicted about the whole idea. </p><p>He very much disliked that sensation.  He forced it to stop.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>When Clint and Captain Peggy – <em>call me Peggy, please</em> – got back to Nick Fury’s house, the archer was somewhat startled to find Fury in a staring contest with a Dragon.</p><p>It was the silver one, the one Daisy had called Pietro.</p><p>The two were in the road, the horses – and there were a few less of them than when they’d left – having backed off as far as their reins would allow and still remain tied to the hitching post and the fence just outside the front yard.  The Dragon was taller than Fury was, but that didn’t mean the priest was at all intimidated…although Clint would have been, if he was being honest with himself.  Pietro was an impressive sight, his wings laid against his back, long neck curved downward as he continued to stare silently at Fury with what should have been a terrifying expression.</p><p>He was a little larger than a horse, and that wasn’t counting the neck, head, and tail…which was swishing back and forth, much like a cat’s when the animal was all wound up.  He was sitting on his haunches, glaring down at Fury, who wasn’t backing down from that angry, dark-eyed gaze and rather large teeth that were showing in the long snout.</p><p>Clint got a closer look at those scales.  They were a lot smaller than what he’d thought they’d be, in overlapping layers that rippled as the Dragon breathed.  It was like watching liquid silver shimmering in the sun. </p><p>This was his first Dragon.  He wasn’t at all disappointed, despite Pietro being somewhat smaller than the stories described.</p><p>“Hello, Pietro,” Peggy greeted the Dragon cheerily, breaking the stalemate between the pair.</p><p>Pietro glanced away without seeming to call a defeat to their contest, giving the captain a bright smile, which showed even more teeth than the snarl he’d been giving Fury.  “Peggy!” the Dragon exclaimed, his voice rough and with a faint accent that certainly confirmed that Pietro had, indeed, once lived in Sokovia.  His eyes flickered toward Clint, and he cocked his head in curiosity.</p><p>“This is Clint Barton,” Peggy introduced.  “He’s a new friend.”  She turned toward Clint.  “Clint, this is Pietro.  Phil raised him and his twin sister from back when they were children.”</p><p>Daisy had said something about an adoption, and a blood debt, but Clint hadn’t really put it together that Phil was actually the official father to both Dragons.  “Nice to meet you,” he responded, wondering vaguely if he should offer a hand, or just stand there and feel like he should have been doing something more to greet the Dragon properly.  “And this is Lucky.”  The dog gave a loud bark in greeting</p><p>“Any friend of Peggy’s,” Pietro rumbled pleasantly, his eyes lightening.  The Dragon didn’t offer any other type of greeting, so Clint figured he was alright and he hadn’t insulted Pietro unknowingly. “And nice to meet you too, Lucky.”</p><p>The animal didn’t seem at all afraid of the small Dragon grinning at him, giving Pietro another pleased bark, then proceeding to walk over and lean against the Dragon, like he usually did when he considered someone good people.</p><p>Pietro looked inordinately pleased by that.  He even carefully tapped Lucky on the head with one. Rather large, claw, in what had to have been a Dragon version of petting.  Lucky ate that shit up.</p><p>“What brings you here?” Peggy inquired politely.</p><p>Pietro’s eyes darkened in anger once more, his head whipping back around to stare down Fury.  “I’m here to find out just what Nick did to upset Phil so badly.”</p><p>Clint was quite gratified to see the Dragon protective of Phil.  It put another person firmly in the Aalveyn’s corner, which made Pietro an ally.  He was looking forward to getting to know both him and his sister better.</p><p>“Is Phil with Wanda?”</p><p>Pietro nodded.  “She’s much better at being supportive than I am.”</p><p>The archer thought back on seeing the red Dragon up on the side of the mountain, wondering how Phil had gotten up there that quickly.  He was willing to bet that Wanda had carried him; he seriously doubted that Phil had flown up there under his own power.  </p><p>That was sad.  Clint would have given anything to be able to fly. However, after what Peggy had told him, he could understand why Phil wouldn’t reveal himself like that, even if it was just long enough to reach the mountain.  If he could fly at all, really.  Clint was somewhat doubtful, after what he’d heard.</p><p>“I know it was you who upset him,” the silver Dragon snarled, his voice going from pleasant to predatory in less than a beat.  Clint wondered if his emotions were as quicksilver as his scales.</p><p>Fury crossed his arms over his chest, but it wasn’t done defensively.  “I need him to do something for the sake of the world,” the Priest answered sharply.  “Just as I was planning on asking you and your sister to help.”</p><p>Pietro cocked his head, even as Peggy’s face was giving Fury another glare that was equal to what the Dragon had been doing.  “And Phil told you not to ask them,” she growled, her eyes narrowing in anger.</p><p>“Then Pietro shouldn’t have confronted me about it,” Fury returned sharply. </p><p>“And what is this plan, that Phil wouldn’t want us to know?”  Pietro asked, his voice once again changing, this time to curious. </p><p>“Fury,” Clint stepped in, knowing it wouldn’t do any good but needing to cut this off before it got out of control.  Phil had claimed that Pietro and Wanda were still children, and getting children involved in the man’s wild schemes was irresponsible in the extreme.  “This is the second time you’ve decided not to respect Phil’s wishes, and it’s going to be the last.”</p><p>Lucky, from Pietro’s side, growled at the Priest, and the archer knew that Lucky would go to Clint’s defense at the slightest provocation.  No, Lucky would have leapt into action the moment Clint made any sort of signal, even against what seemed to be impossible odds, what with a Dragon sitting there.  But then, Pietro had been friendly and Lucky had apparently adopted him.</p><p>Deities, he really loved that dog.</p><p>Fury raised an eyebrow in his direction.  “I don’t think you understand what’s happening here, Barton.”</p><p>“I understand enough.”  Clint stepped forward; if he was going to be the Prince then he needed to start acting like the Prince.  “I understand that you don’t care what stands in the way of your vengeance, and you can say it’s the fate of Marvala all you want, but we both know that’s not exactly true.”  He narrowed his eyes, seeing things in the man’s aura that no one else could.  “You’re after King Charles’ head, because of what he did to your Mistress, and only partly because that action made whatever instability in the other governments of Marvala to grow worse.  You’re also feeling like you have a second chance at it, because you know realize you didn’t fail all those turns ago when I got away from you.  You see in me – and in Phil, and the rest of us – a renewed chance to go after King Charles and strike back at him for what he did thirty turns ago.”</p><p>Fury smirked.  “You think you know it all, Barton.”</p><p>“Yeah, I think I do.  At least your motivation in all this.  Oh, I think Darkness gave you a task, but that’s only a part of it.  You want vengeance, pure and simple.  And you don’t care who you have to use to get it, even if that person you’re using is a good friend who never did anything to deserve having his secrets outed to people who he never chose to tell.”</p><p>Clint knew, in his heart, that he was right. That Fury may have started out wanting to follow the directives given to him by Darkness, but that the purpose he’d been assigned had twisted over the turns into something else, something darker. </p><p>And it wasn’t as if he could blame the man for it.  Clint’s half-brother had not only brutally murdered the archer’s mother and father, he’d massacred those who’d been loyal to the old regime, the innocent courtiers and councilors and soldiers and servants who’d followed King Harold and Queen Edith out of respect and love.  That deserved some sort of punishment, and Clint wouldn’t mind being the one to do it, if only because, under King Charles, Waverlyn was slowly breaking, the people suffering and dying just because the bastard had wanted the throne so badly he’d made a deal with Evil in order to get it.  Clint was willing to bet it was more than that, but he didn’t know Charles all that well so he couldn’t even begin to guess…although he suspected it had something to with his not being able to inherit because he’d been born out of wedlock. </p><p>Deities, Clint would have been willing to leave him to it, if it wasn’t the fact that King Charles was obviously insane.</p><p>His eyes met Fury’s single one squarely.  Clint saw defiance in that gaze, but also respect.  That was all the confirmation he needed to know that his words had been true, that the Priest had not only gained the favor of Darkness, but that he was also playing with Death as well, and had taken on the mantel of Vengeance. </p><p>“You talk a good game,” he murmured, “but the ends don’t justify the means, Fury.  I’ll be the King you want, but you can’t just ignore anyone else’s wishes in the grand plan of yours just because they don’t want to dance to your tune.”</p><p>He was aware that both Peggy and Pietro were listening in, but he didn’t care.  He needed to get it through Fury’s head that they weren’t puppets, that they had free will, and that whatever the Havens he’d had planned wasn’t going to happen the way the Priest wanted it to. </p><p>They were going to have to sit down and come up with better ideas.  Fury might have been thinking about this for nearly thirty turns, but he was going to need to reconsider his notions of being the puppet master in this show.  The man’s plans were tainted by Vengeance, and not thought through to their logical conclusion.</p><p>Clint could see the beat when Fury backed down.  It wasn’t anything visible that he did; it was in that oh-so dark aura of his, an acceptance of events that had his aura flaring slightly, then constricting a little closer to Fury’s body.  Clint was the one who backed away, giving the man a single nod, accepting that capitulation and ending the confrontation. </p><p>He’d had his say.  There was no reason to continue the conversation.</p><p>When he glanced toward her, Peggy was grinning and nodding, her expression impressed.  “Well done,” she congratulated.</p><p>Pietro, though Clint wasn’t as familiar with draconic expression, thought the young Dragon was equally impressed, as well as curious.</p><p>He would have heard Clint call himself a King, and would most likely have questions about it.</p><p>“You can tell your sister,” he told Pietro, “but I’d appreciate you not spreading it around that I’m supposed to be an actual King.”</p><p>The Dragon shook his head.  “I won’t say a word.  But thank you for letting me tell Wanda.  I don’t keep things from her.”  He then gave his own grin.  “I would appreciate more details, however.”</p><p>“I’m sure I can oblige, as soon as I can tell both you and your sister at the same time.”  He really only wanted to face the story once, truth be told.  He was still wrestling a little with the idea of being a ruler, even though he’d just agreed to be the King of Waverlyn.  It was going to take some getting used to.</p><p>As for being a half-blood Deity…he was still not at all accepting of <em>that</em> yet.  It was all too bizarre.</p><p>“When Phil is in town, Wanda and I spend time in his back yard.  We can arrange to meet there.”  The Dragon seemed excited at the prospect.</p><p>Before Clint could agree – a small voice in the back of his mind whispering that it was more to see where Phil lived than sharing his new-found background – a shadow passed overhead, and the scarlet Dragon that was Pietro’s sister, Wanda, landed lightly in the road, with Phil on her back.  The Aalveyn slid off gracefully, his blue eyes darting between the four of them standing in the road, gaze sharp as he took in their various poses.   “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice mild despite his expression.</p><p>“We’ve come to an agreement,” Clint replied. </p><p>“Is this a good thing, or a bad thing?”</p><p>Peggy chuckled.  “It was brilliant, Phil.  Honestly, I’m sorry you missed it.”</p><p>“Barton has agreed,” Fury spoke up, “as long as we adjust some of the plans I’ve had.”</p><p>“I’m certain Clint will be glad to explain,” Peggy added, smiling slyly.  Clint stifled a sigh.  Even after their discussion, it seemed as if Peggy was still trying to matchmake them.  “Pietro overheard some of it.”</p><p>“Of course he did.” Phil pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. </p><p>“Clint has promised to tell us everything,” Pietro added.  He began fidgeting from side to side, his excitement plain. </p><p>Lucky, smartly, got out of the way, going to greet Wanda.  She smiled down at him, and said hello.  He leaned into her, and she did the claw-poke petting thing that Pietro had done. The dog looked up her adoringly.</p><p>“And we can help, as well, Wanda,” the silver Dragon went on, dark eyes sparkling.</p><p>Phil’s eyes snapped to Fury.  “You didn’t…”</p><p>Fury raised his hands to ward off whatever temper the Aalveyn was going to throw his way.  “I didn’t say a thing,” he denied.</p><p>“But he heavily implied,” Peggy spoke up, sounding put out.</p><p>“Deities,” Phil growled.  “Nick –”</p><p>“We’ve had a little talk about the ends justifying the means,” Clint put in hastily, wanting to stave off an argument and feeling a little strange at being the peacekeeper between the old friends. “And how we’re going to need to come up with better plans.”</p><p>“And you had this discussion in the middle of the street?” the Aalveyn inquired quietly. </p><p>Clint could tell, though, how mad he was, because the lightning bolts had begun to shoot across his aura again.  There really wasn’t anything he could say.  After all, they <em>had</em> been in the road when they’d been discussing things, but he was certain no one had overheard them.  The archer was sure he would have noticed anyone nearby.  And wouldn’t Peggy have sensed anyone close enough to listen in? </p><p>“It was my fault,” Pietro explained.  “I came here to find out why you were upset, Phil, and I called Nick out of the house so I could talk to him.  Clint and Peggy showed up just as I was facing him down for answers.”</p><p>“Well,” Peggy added, apologetically, “we could have taken it inside for some of the conversation.  However, the only thing that was talked about was Clint’s position, and how he thought we needed to rework the plans Nick had originally come up with.”</p><p>“And everyone else is gone,” Fury said.  “The meeting broke up not long after Barton had left.”</p><p>Phil turned to regard him.  “You left?”</p><p>“I took him away with me,” Peggy hastened to say.  “I thought he deserved an explanation of certain things he wasn’t aware of, and why Nick’s plan for you wouldn’t work, Phil.”</p><p>Clint looked the Aalveyn right in the eye, worried that Phil would think that Peggy had overstepped her bounds.  Something of that worry must have communicated itself to Phil, because he nodded in understanding.  “That’s fine.  I trust you, Clint.”</p><p>Warmth spread through the archer’s chest at the words.  He was glad that he’d somehow earned Phil’s trust, although he wasn’t at all sure how he’d done it.  They’d only known each other for two tendays and, while Clint had certain feelings for the Aalveyn – and Phil apparently had the same feelings for Clint himself – that didn’t necessarily mean there was trust between them.  So, he was grateful that it was there.</p><p>“I’m glad Peggy told you,” Phil added, giving Clint a tiny smile.  “Although, I could have told you myself if I’d known that you…<em>knew</em>.”</p><p>The warmth he’d been feeling turned into a raging inferno, only one that didn’t burn; it was a pleasant sensation, and he never wanted it to go away, quite certain he could walk through a blizzard just with this heat alone to keep him from freezing.  Clint wanted more than anything to tug Phil into his arms and kiss him senseless, and he barely kept his hands to himself.  Doing that would start something, something that he couldn’t finish.  “I didn’t tell you because it’s not my secret to tell,” he managed to get out around the lump in his throat.</p><p>“Thank you for that.”  The gratitude was obviously heartfelt, and Clint basked in it as much as he dared.</p><p>“Oh, for Deities’ sake,” Fury mumbled. </p><p>“Shut up, Nick,” Peggy returned.</p><p>Clint didn’t need to see her to know she was beaming at the pair of them.</p><p>The archer turned his eyes away from Phil, snorting in irritation.  Now, everyone would know how they felt, and that they couldn’t do anything about it, not with the positions they found themselves in now. </p><p>“I’ll be going to Aal’valla,” Phil said, his voice a little rough.  “But I’m not going to reveal the blessing, Nick.  I can try to get what you and Clint need just by bearing the Maelstrom Harp and demonstrating my control over it.  Anything more… and the Aalveyn won’t go along with it.  If I show the Deity’s blessing, I’ll be branded <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn, and that won’t do a damned thing to bring your plan to fruition.”</p><p>Fury nodded, even as Clint’s eyes snapped back to Phil, who was standing straight and proud.  In his vision, the wings were slightly extended, the silver-grey primaries on full display, presenting as proud as the Tal’endi himself appeared.  “You don’t have to,” he blurted in surprise.   He’d planned on coming to Fury and putting his own plan to the man, to go directly to the Red Room and plead his case there.  “We can come up with something else.”</p><p>He understood what this meant for Phil, after Peggy had explained it all to him.  He didn’t want his friend to have to face that, and would have gladly gone to Aal’valla without him. </p><p>However, he could see now that he would never have gotten much beyond the borders without at least one Aalveyn with him.  Even if the Red Room had been amenable to gifting him with one of their Widows, per the old agreements and without the backing of the Clan Council, he might not have made it there by himself; besides, he really didn’t have any idea where to even go.  Yes, Peggy could have gone with him, but she simply didn’t have enough of what amounted to political power to get them too far.  Sure, they could sneak into the country, and that could possibly work, but if Clint was honest with himself, that wouldn’t put any sort of request in a good light.</p><p>Damnit, he <em>needed</em> Phil to do this.  He just didn’t want to put him through facing his people again, not after what had been done to him by his own family.</p><p>Before Phil could say anything, Fury spoke up.  “I want to start training in the morning, Barton.  We need to unlock your gifts, because I know damned well you have more than what you’ve tapped into.  You’re going to need to be at full strength if you’re gonna pull this off.”</p><p>Not even giving Clint a chance to answer, the Priest turned on his heel and marched back inside the house, leaving the group standing in the road. </p><p>“Well,” Phil said dryly, “that was about as abrupt as Nick always is.”</p><p>The archer shook his head.  “I don’t know why he thinks I can do more than I already can.”</p><p>“He might have the manners of an angry bear,” Peggy laughed, “but he’s usually right about that sort of thing.”</p><p>Behind him, Clint could hear Pietro telling his sister that they’d been promised an explanation.  Well, best get on that then.  “You don’t mind if we use your house for this?” he asked Phil.</p><p>“Not at all,” the Aalveyn assured him. </p><p>“And I’m going back to my ship.  I’m sure my boys will want to know what’s going on.”  With that proclamation, Peggy hugged Phil and then fetched one of the remaining horses and started back toward town.</p><p>“Flying back would be faster,” Pietro commented excitedly.  Clint was getting the impression that the silver Dragon did most everything excitedly.  “I can give you a lift, Clint.”</p><p>The smile that spread across the archer’s face actually made his cheeks hurt.  He was going to get to fly on a Dragon!  How fantastic was that? He bounced up and down on his toes. </p><p>Phil chuckled.  “I think Clint’s already decided on that ride, Pietro.  However, I think I’ll head back with Lucky.  I doubt he’d want to fly, and I need to get the horses back to town anyway.  Why don’t we meet the three of you there?  I won’t be long.”</p><p>“I can ride back with you –” Clint began.</p><p>“No, you can’t.”  The Aalveyn was chuckling outright.  “You want to fly with Pietro so badly you’re practically vibrating.”</p><p>He may have had a point.</p><p>“Go on.”  He made a pushing motion with his hands.  “I’ll meet you there.”</p><p>Clint didn’t need any other prompting. </p><p>Pietro was also laughing as he settled onto the road, holding his front leg out for the archer to use as a mount.  Clint vaulted easily onto the silver Dragon, the scales warm and smooth under his hands, Pietro giving him a little guidance on how to sit so he wouldn’t get in the way of the wings.</p><p>And then, they were in the air, Clint whooping with glee as they rose.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter 27</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Jane Foster loved learning.  </p><p>She was a follower of Science, the only one in her family to have that calling.  It had been a surprise to her parents when she’d presented as such, but they’d embraced it wholeheartedly, giving her every opportunity and encouraging her in everything that she did.  They sent her to the University in Waverlyn, which it was a great honor to be accepted at, and that had led her to the study of the stars as a chosen vocation.</p><p>The stars fascinated her.  While she wasn’t touched by Order – far from it, if her mother had anything to say about the subject, understanding that a daughter consumed by a love of Science could be very Chaotic indeed – that didn’t mean that the stars didn’t call to her, only not in the way a devotee of Order would have been.  Instead, Jane wanted nothing more than to know what the stars were made of, how they were created, how they lived and died.  If there were other worlds around those very stars, and what that life would look like.  Why they formed the patterns in the night sky that they did, and what those patterns meant.</p><p>Oh, like everyone else in the world, she’d read the <em>Book of the Eternities</em>.  She knew what it said, that the One Above All had brought the stars into being at the breaking of the Emptiness, and that Order had been the one to move them when Marvala had been created.  However, Jane also understood that the Deity and the One Above All weren’t <em>controlling</em> the stars, that they’d only done the <em>original</em> creation, but that didn’t explain why the stars acted the way they did, why they waxed and waned, and lost the battle with entropy and were destroyed.  Why they were different colors, and what governed how they appeared within the lens of her telescope. </p><p>Jane yearned to understand all of that, to come as close as possible to knowing what the One Above All had been thinking as they had spun the stars into being.  Yes, she knew she’d never truly understand that, but she was willing to try, and why she would give her life to the pursuit of that knowledge.</p><p>Which was why she’d accepted Erik Selvig’s invitation to come and study at the Academy of Sciences in Brittanium.</p><p>In the beginning, it had been like a dream come true.  Jane had access to the largest and most powerful telescope in the world, one that allowed her to peer deep into the heart of creation itself, to stars that no one else would have been able to see from the ground and yet had been created by the One Above All as well for no reason that Jane could tell.  She’d caught a glimpse of other worlds beyond Marvala, encircling the closest star to their own, and she’d been able to study the moons and calculate their orbits to within the nearest tick.  It had been the greatest time of her life, and her knowledge expanded greatly, the monographs she’d written looked upon with high regard.</p><p>It had been Darcy who’d been the first to notice the changes.</p><p>Darcy Lewis was a student of Politics, and she’d been looking for a job to supplement the money her parents had been sending her for her expenses as she studied at the Academy.  Jane had been impressed by her, a young <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn with a bubbly personality and the Orderliness that Jane so desperately needed in her life. The smartest thing Jane had ever done didn’t compare with hiring Darcy, who kept her organized and fed and did everything that Jane hadn’t thought of doing but had proved to be necessary.</p><p>Two turns ago, Darcy had warned them.  She’d come to Erik and Jane, telling them that she didn’t like the trends that were showing up in the Brittanium Parliament with the laws they were creating, and that they needed to be prepared… and her worst-case scenario had been right on the nose.  She’d said that the politicians were clamoring for withdrawal, that it was only a matter of time before the entire country sequestered itself away within its own borders, separate from the rest of the world.</p><p>Erik had scoffed.  He hadn’t seen how it would have been possible, that Brittanium needed the other countries for sources of materials and supplies that couldn’t be found within itself, as well as skilled labor that was needed to keep the country running smoothly.  Darcy had been angry at his doubting her, but then Erik had a tendency to be a tad dismissive of things he didn’t understand.</p><p>Jane, though…Jane had listened.  Even if she had no idea what to do about it.</p><p>And so, she watched.  And waited.  And, despite her own tendency toward absentmindedness, even she could see that Darcy’s dire prediction was coming true.</p><p>It began with an announcement that the ports would be closing to outside traffic.  That ships from other countries were going to be expelled, no matter what the reason they were in dock, and to get back in they would need special dispensation…or a damned good reason for being there, and trade wasn’t always going to be good enough.  An entire set of protocols for people who had business in the country was drawn up, to prevent anyone coming into Brittanium for any purpose other than what was strictly enforced.  Darcy was positive it was only a matter of time before resident visitors and those in the country for work reasons were expelled, and Jane had no reason to doubt her.</p><p>That would mean Jane, herself.  And she wasn’t ready to give up her work; not yet, anyway.</p><p>Pulling her shawl up over her head, Jane bustled toward the Academy from the flat she’d taken that wasn’t far from the campus, in a building that catered to instructors, students, and Academy employees.  The roads were strangely deserted; it was as if everyone was staying home, despite it being the middle of the morning when people should have been heading into work.  The tea shop she usually stopped in for her morning cup was open, however, even though it wasn’t nearly as busy as it normally was that time of day, filled with students and instructors and businessmen coming in for their cups of variously flavored teas in preparation for the day.   </p><p>Jane didn’t stop today.  </p><p>She felt as if she was under a deadline, one that was coming toward her swiftly, and she wasn’t the only one to be affected by it.  Erik, and Darcy, and others she worked with… many of the members of the Academy were from other countries, and Jane had to wonder if the Parliament had taken it into consideration that this new rule was going to rob Brittanium of some of its best and brightest.  She might not have her finger on the pulse of the government like Darcy did, but couldn’t they see how this was going to wreck the country?  It was already having effects, if just by the lack of people on the roads and walkways when they should have been bustling.</p><p>The Academy of Sciences was an impressive building near the center of the city of Cambria, constructed of glittering marble that had been somewhat stained over the turns by weather and soot from the larger cities around it and businesses that were in the city proper.  The central dome of the main building loomed over a large courtyard with walkways leading toward the large front portico, which was overhung by a carved bas relief of the Twelve, each holding their symbols of their office.  Jane thought the thing overly pretentious, to be honest.</p><p>The rest of the building flared out into two wings, each three stories tall, where the labs and teaching rooms were.  Jane’s own lab, though, was at the rear of the Academy, in the Observatory, a tall tower that was just visible over the main building from where Jane was walking.  She’d been there for four turns now, and it had just been beginning to feel like home.</p><p>Now, it was just a place where she worked.  Perhaps it really <em>was</em> time to leave, to abandon the turns of work she’d put in…she didn’t <em>want</em> to, but Jane could see where the cards were falling, even without Darcy pointing it out. It had become far too obvious even with her tendency to become distracted by her studies.</p><p>Jane took her usual shortcut up the front steps and through the main hall, to the rear of the building, where a covered walkway led toward the massive, needle-shaped spire of the Observatory, with the rounded dome where the massive telescope sat at the very pinnacle.  There weren’t many students around; the scientist was aware that many had chosen to go home once Parliament had made its decision, leaving only those who were residents or the resident visitors who wanted to maintain their studies at the Academy for as long as they possibly could.</p><p>It saddened Jane to see it.  The Academy had always been a bustling place, where peoples of all races on Marvala came to learn, or to instruct, or to perform their own studies amidst the air of academia the place exuded. </p><p>The Academy of Sciences had been favored amongst those who’d been given the gifts of Science.  However, it bore the risk of becoming redundant, now that Brittanium’s borders were closing.</p><p>It was a shame.  Jane could only hope the politicians saw the error of their ways quickly and changed their minds.</p><p>Or the protests she’d heard of perhaps doing some good.  She knew for a fact that Darcy was one of the student protestors, but she didn’t often share what was happening at them.  At least she’d never been arrested as far as Jane was aware.  Not that she wouldn’t have bailed the young <em>halva</em>’Aalveyn out if she were.</p><p>She opened the door of the Observatory with her key; only those who were performing experiments were allowed in.  Yes, there were students who came to study the stars as well, but they had to be accompanied by an accredited member of the Academy.  Which meant Jane or Erik, until such time as they were forcibly removed.</p><p>It was going to happen.  She just didn’t know when.</p><p>The spiral staircase that led up to the telescope lined the outer wall.  Jane took the steps easily, used to the climb by now. </p><p>The stairs ended in stages, the landings leading to laboratories and study rooms, as well as a library that was well-stocked with all sorts of tomes and scrolls dating back to the last two Eternities.  Jane had spent many a day in that library, and she hoped that nothing was done to the accumulated knowledge within, when Brittanium finally cut itself off completely from the rest of the world.</p><p>Erik was in the telescope dome when Jane entered.  He was seated at the rickety desk that took up a small area of the large room and, when he glanced up, Jane could see that his eyes were red-rimmed, and it was obvious had hadn’t been to bed yet.  It wasn’t a surprise; Erik had wanted to observe a bright cloud out beyond the stars, and had been making notes on its composition with a mind to write a paper on it.  He would have been up most of the night doing his observing, and was just finishing up for the day. </p><p>It was always better to observe at night, when the stars were out and the industrial grunge from the smokestacks of the factories didn’t cover the sky, since everything was closed.</p><p>Jane wished she’d stopped at the tea shop now.  She could have gotten Erik something, if she’d remembered he’d planned on being there all night.</p><p>She might have even gotten him a pastry.</p><p>Damnit.</p><p>Erik gave her a tired smile.  “Good morning, Jane.  Sleep well?” Jane hadn’t been able to place his accent until Erik had explained that he’d been born in Sokovia, but that his family had moved around quite a lot, so that it had become muddied by a bunch of different regional accents that he’d found himself living in. </p><p>She shrugged.  “About as well as could be expected.”  She’d always been a light sleeper, and now her nerves were starting to get to her a little, making it even harder to rest.</p><p>“Ah, Jane.” The rather boisterous voice greeted her from the gantry around the upper section of the dome.  “Good morrow to you.”</p><p>Eyes moving upward toward the source of the words, Jane felt a smile tug at her lips as she met Donald’s eyes.  “Good morning,” she said in return.  </p><p>Donald Blake was a secret the three of them were keeping; herself, Erik, and Darcy.  He’d literally run into her and Darcy one night, and had gotten the sharp end of Darcy’s shock rod for his pains, even though they’d met by accident.  It was as if that act had earned them Donald’s respect, and he’d shared with them that he was actually Thor, the exiled Prince of Asgard.</p><p>It had been Darcy who’d insisted they keep that nugget of information hidden, pointing out that, with the current run of xenophobia within the country, having even exiled royalty discovered would have been asking for trouble.  After her friend had pointed out that out, Jane could see it; after all, Parliament didn’t need another excuse to hide behind Brittanium’s borders, and there had been hard feelings for Asgard for hundreds of turns, ever since the Darklings from the north of Asgard had attempted to invade Brittanium.  There could very well have been a trial, and Thor might even be imprisoned for the actions of a people that hadn’t anything to do with him at all except that they shared a home country. </p><p>He also hadn’t bothered to get the proper paperwork when he’d entered the country either, which was against the law, and then he’d have to explain who he was.  That would have caused all sorts of trouble, especially since he’d been living in the country for over a turn now.</p><p>And so was Donald Blake, assistant to Erik Selvig, born. </p><p>It had raised a few eyebrows at first amongst other members of the faculty, as Thor wasn’t of Science and didn’t appear to be taking any classes himself, but soon they’d all settled into a new routine and tongues had stopped wagging.  As Donald Blake, Thor certainly pulled his own weight in the Observatory, helping out where needed, and always happy to learn just what they were doing in their own studies.  He was cheerful, kind, could lift both Jane and Darcy in one arm, and everyone he met genuinely liked him. </p><p>It had surprised Jane at first that Thor was of Chaos, when his family was descended from Good, but Jane had a passing familiarity with how family and blood lines worked, and understood that these things happened in families.  From what she’d heard, Thor’s father, King Odin, was a powerful knower, with special insight as well, and from a few hints Thor had dropped his father had been disappointed when Thor had turned out to be blessed by Chaos, but had accepted it and had named Thor his heir…until the exile, which Jane only knew a little about.  For as loud as Thor could get, he was very quiet on this subject, having only given her the broad strokes of it when she’d asked.</p><p>Jane quite liked Thor…or Donald, as she had to constantly remind herself to think of him as.  They’d even been out a couple of times, and the man had been charming and chivalrous out in public.  The scientist could very easily see herself falling for him, if she wasn’t careful.</p><p>Now, more than ever, it was imperative that they keep Donald’s true identity a secret.  In these paranoid times he could very easily be taken for a spy and executed for it.  And there was also that lack of paperwork thing; that sort of thing hadn’t been checked very carefully before, but now it was getting bad.  Jane had her papers checked at least twice a tenday now.</p><p>Not that he was a spy.  Thor was just trying to live his life away from the court intrigues that he’d grown up with, and to somehow, some day, make his father proud of him so that he’d welcome Thor back home again.  This was a new start for him, and it hadn’t been his fault he’d gotten started off in the wrong foot with the country he’d found himself in.</p><p>Donald came clattering down the metal staircase from the gantry, a beaming smile on his face.  Jane thought he was quite handsome, his hair blond; he’d had long locks when they’d first met, but he’d since had it cut, the better to blend in with the rest of the populace.  His arms were works of art, but he had to keep those covered as well, and it had been a struggle to find him tunics that would fit properly over his broad shoulders.  Thor had said he’d not only learned statecraft from his father, but the warrior’s way as well, his weapon of choice being a magical hammer that Odin had confiscated when he’d exiled his only son because Thor had been…well, over-exuberant, were the Prince’s words…in wanting to take the fight to the Darklings, who had once again been causing a ruckus.  Odin had objected, and had banished Thor because of it.  Even Thor had admitted that he’d been overly arrogant, and had learned his lesson when he’d no longer had the advantages of court life at his fingertips.</p><p>However, there were a few times when Jane could see that arrogance shining through, but on the whole Thor was a genuinely nice person.  She was inclined to hide him just for that alone.</p><p>Still, she was also cognizant of the danger to herself and to the others.  If it got out that they were keeping Thor hidden…well, they were going to be kicked out of the country at some point, anyway.  Jane could only hope that would be the extent of their punishment.</p><p>“Darcy isn’t in yet?” Jane asked, removing her shawl and hanging it on one of the coat hooks just inside the door. </p><p>“Been and gone,” Erik replied.  “She walked in, saw me, told me I looked like death warmed up, and went for tea and breakfast.”</p><p>Jane laughed.  Yes, that sounded like Darcy.  She was always taking care of them. </p><p>“Aye,” Thor – Donald – agreed.  “She has a valid point, friend Erik.”  His accent might have passed for some version of Brittanium, only there was a formalness to it that was somewhat alien to the country.  Luckily, most people seemed to ignore that, and he’d learned to tone it down when out in public.  Not that he was out in public all that much anymore.</p><p>Erik waved off the concern.  “I’ll get some sleep when I get these observations written up.  Jane,” his eyes went from tired to excited in a beat, “I believe there are actually stars forming in that cloud I’ve been observing.  It’s fascinating!”</p><p>Jane had to agree with that.  They understood that, once the One Above All finished with the original creation, they’d let it run its course, and new stars and other phenomena began to come into being just from the natural laws the great being put into place.  But stars and such formed so slowly, it was hard to see it occurring first-hand.  The space around them was a dynamic thing, amazing to see, and Jane couldn’t wait to make some observations herself later on tonight when it was her turn at the enormous telescope.</p><p>“I should be pleased to stay this night with you, Jane,” Donald replied, sounding almost shy about it, “and to aid in your research.” </p><p>Jane thought that was sweet.  “I’d love the company.”  One thing she knew about their Asgardian friend, was that he truly respected their work and, despite his own boisterous nature, Donald could be silent when required.  He was also able to tell when Jane needed something, a snack or a drink or writing implements, and she appreciated his presence on those nights she was at her observations.</p><p>He could also tell the most outrageous stories.  Jane could appreciate that ability, too.  She didn’t think she’d laughed nearly as much before Donald came along.</p><p>In that moment, Darcy bustled in, carrying a cloth bag and a tray that was loaded down with the mugs that they used there in the Observatory.  Today, the <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn was dressed in bright shades of red, her dark hair twisted up in messy braids so that the tips of her pointed ears were visible, large crystal earrings twinkling as she moved.  She set both down on the desk, out of Erik’s way, and began to unpack the bag, pulling various sorts of pastries out for them to try.  Jane hadn’t realized she was hungry until she saw them; she’d been too distracted when she’d passed the tea shop on her way in. </p><p>“Help yourselves,” Darcy offered.  “I got enough even for Donald’s hefty appetite.”</p><p>“Thank you, little one,” Donald said gallantly, his face bright with a smile.  “I am quite famished.”</p><p>He was always calling her that.  Darcy had taken offence at first, but had quickly learned that Donald didn’t mean anything by it; in fact, everyone currently in the room was smaller than he was, and it was a term of endearment.  He’d confided in Jane that he saw Darcy as a little sister, which Jane thought was sweet.</p><p>There were a lot of sweet things about the former Prince of Asgard, in Jane’s opinion.</p><p>Erik had gone for the tea first, practically inhaling it from his mug.  Darcy could have gotten mugs at the tea shop, but they were fragile and not meant to last any longer than a couple of uses.  They were good when one of them stopped on the way, but using their own mugs also got them a small discount. </p><p>Donald himself grabbed one of the pastries and practically inhaled it, taking a second one before Jane could even take one.  She laughed, picking one with berries baked into it, eating much slower than Donald had done.  “Thanks, Darcy,” she said, after swallowing her first bite.</p><p>“No problem, boss.”  She handed Jane her mug.  “I heard a rumor today while I was at the tea shop.”</p><p>Jane raised an eyebrow as she took another bite, the berries tart on her tongue. </p><p>Darcy understood that eyebrow; another reason she made an excellent assistant.  “They’re going to start making up special passes for people who are working here, and aren’t citizens.  It’s going to mean a lot of restrictions on us, too.”</p><p>It might have been a rumor, but the tone Darcy was using told Jane that she believed it was actually going to happen.  “And when will it come down to expelling those with these special passes whether they follow these so-called restrictions or not?”</p><p>Darcy shrugged.  “I’m thinking sooner rather than later.”</p><p>“That’s just great,” Erik snorted.  “What do those idiots in Parliament think they’re gonna achieve with this?”</p><p>“At least they aren’t like Aal’valla,” Darcy pointed out.  “I mean, there’s none of that racial purity shit happening here.”</p><p>“I am not certain that is the way to look at this situation,” Donald replied.  “Yes, there may not be that bitter undertone of prejudice here; however, it has the same root cause, and that is to isolate the people from the rest of the world for most likely selfish purposes.”</p><p>Jane knew he had a point.</p><p>“We may have a problem with Donald, here.”  Darcy hooked a thumb over to their resident former Prince.  “We have no way to prove his nationality, and he doesn’t have proper identification to boot.  With us, we had to provide citizenship records when we came to study here.  But, Donald…we’ve managed to fudge his way so far but that won’t hold up to scrutiny and he’s already had to curtail his movements outside the Academy.  Plus, we don’t know what they’ll do if the Prince of Asgard is found out to be hiding here.”</p><p>“Then I shall leave.”  And that, suddenly, was the Prince of Asgard, the man who’d been meant to be King.  It was as if the façade of Donald Blake had been dropped, leaving behind the regal man who’d been raised in statecraft, ready to make the sacrifice call.</p><p>“And how are you gonna do that?” Darcy pressed.  “How would you get out of the country?  The ports are watched even more closely than before; it wasn’t like when you got here, when they weren’t paying such close attention to who comes and goes.  They hadn’t even directed you to the proper authority for an entrance waiver, which is a mess, too, because if you had at least that, it might have been a stepping stone to getting you proper documentation.”</p><p>“I refuse to put you all into any more danger than you are already in.  Having the Prince of Asgard under your roof may be construed as espionage…or they may use me as propaganda against my people.  That cannot stand.”</p><p>“And we appreciate it,” Jane told him, “but we’re out of time to do anything.”</p><p>“Unless we come up with a plan,” Erik pointed out, “the only thing we can do is wait and hope they don’t find out.  And, if it comes down to it, we can have Donald stay here at the Observatory full-time, since only us come here.”</p><p>Erik was right.  They were basically trapped in the country now, with the borders being nearly completely closed.  The only thing they could do was wait until they were all deported, which would happen eventually…it just might be a little longer for those who were of use.</p><p>It was a terrifying thought.  But there wasn’t anything they could do about it now. </p><p>“Well,” Darcy looked shifty, “there may be a way…”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Chapter 28</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Phil bustled around his small house, chuckling at the grumbling Pietro was making out in the back yard, the sound through the open windows a slice of normal that the Aalveyn greatly appreciated. </p><p>It had been three tendays since he’d sailed into Cayside, Clint onboard <em>Lola’s Dream</em>, and he’d hardly seen the archer in that time.  All of Clint’s days were taken up by what Nick was calling training, but was more to do with opening up more of the hunter’s gifts than anything else. His friend had been convinced that, with Clint’s parentage, there would have been much more potential that he simply hadn’t tapped into yet and, from the sketchy reports he’d been hearing that had proved correct. </p><p>A part of him wished that Clint had come to him and shared it, but he could understand why he hadn’t.  After all, Clint was a Prince, a Royal Heir, and had a destiny that didn’t involve a self-exiled Aalveyn hiding his own gifts from the world, made ashamed of them by parental and societal indoctrination.</p><p>Still, he missed Clint.  More than he thought he would. </p><p>Phil knew he’d be seeing the archer when the <em>Avenger</em> arrived back into port.  As soon as the <em>Avenger </em>returned from patrol, they would be making the voyage to Aal’valla.  Nick had believed that having a warship at his ‘beck and call’ would make Clint look more Princely, and Phil stronger politically for their arrival at the port of Wic’sonin.  And he might have had a point.</p><p>But, the vessel was a Shield Islands warship, and had various duties pertaining to the Admiralty’s Office, like patrolling for pirates and keeping the territorial waters of the Islands safe for shipping, so she couldn’t be waiting around until the right time to leave.  As no one trusted Governor Pierce, Peggy had understood that they’d need to keep up appearances until they could act, and that meant going back onto patrol while Clint was working with Nick in honing his abilities.</p><p>Melinda was also waiting to sail for Brittanium.  Phil had put her in charge of <em>Lola’s Dream </em>for the trip; she was about the only person he would trust with his ship, along with Mack as her first mate.  Nick had wanted to wait and see if any word came to them about Prince Thor from Phil’s contact in Londron, with any leads on the Asgardian’s whereabouts, claiming to have sent a letter via ship as soon as he’d discovered that Clint was still out there. </p><p>To be honest, Phil didn’t think they’d be hearing anything, unless his contact had Chaos looking out for him.  There wasn’t even any guarantee that the letter would even get there, depending on what new rules the Parliament had set up for the mail and if the ship that had sailed would even be let into port in the first place. </p><p>He’d told Nick as such, and had attempted to convince him to let Melinda leave right after the plan had been proposed.  It was a little irritating; the <em>Dream </em>could have arrived in Londron already, and the search could have started.  It would have been one more thing out of the way of this grand plan of Nick’s to make Clint look more legitimate than he already was. But Nick was a stubborn bastard, and hadn’t given into Phil’s very credible concerns that time was moving and they needed to get things started.</p><p>Sometimes, Nick came up with things that seemed impossible to manage.  This Thor mission looked like one more. </p><p>Of course, that mission to locate Clint had seemed like the same sort of thing.  And look how <em>that</em> had turned out. </p><p>“That sheep was too stringy,” Pietro grumbled, interrupting his thoughts.  “I have wool stuck between my teeth.”</p><p>“If you would chew your food a little better,’ Wanda pointed out, “you wouldn’t have that problem.”</p><p>Phil snorted, because Wanda was right about that.  Pietro had a terrible habit of wolfing down his meals, which led to him needing help in getting things out from between his formidable teeth.  Chances were, he’d be asking Phil for help, and there was no way he was going to get his hands in a Dragon’s mouth, even if that Dragon <em>was</em> Phil’s adopted son.  The bad breath alone would be enough to knock him senseless.</p><p>At least Wanda had good dental hygiene.</p><p>Phil sighed.  He really didn’t want to go back to Aal’valla but, over the days of waiting, he’d resigned himself to the fact that he would be going home in order to help the man he…well, help Clint with getting an audience with the Red Room.  After all, Nick did have a point: if Clint had his own Widow, a personal bodyguard that only royalty could gain, it would certainly help to solidify his position as the rightful King of Waverlyn.  Not even King Charles had one, but that could mean only that the Red Room and the Clan Council had decided not to abide by the ancient treaties and not because they didn’t recognize Charles are the true King.  Phil didn’t know what went into actually getting a Widow, but maybe Charles hadn’t passed any sort of test they did.  That wouldn’t be a surprise, actually.</p><p>Or, he could be wrong, and the Council had simply decided to ignore the old treaties.  The Aalveyn were retreating further and further behind their borders, and that might mean abandoning old pacts with the other Races, all of whom they looked down upon anyway.  The reputation that his people had gained over the turns had, at times, hurt Phil’s own, and it pissed him off.  He was nothing like the stuck-up assholes who traveled beyond Aal’valla, and he’d done a lot to make sure people he had to deal with understood that he was nothing like them at all.</p><p>The eclectic mix of his crew certainly helped with that.</p><p>Phil took a sip from his cup of coffee, watching the twins through the open window as the Dragons bickered good-naturedly with each other.  They’d thrown themselves in with Phil the moment they’d had things explained to them, and the Aalveyn had known they would.  The twins called it a blood debt; it was an ancient pact with the Race of Dragons, and Phil had done his research when Wanda had first claimed it for the pair.  Phil had, of course, objected, because what he’d done had been the right thing to do, saving those two children from the hunters who’d wanted to murder them.  Things had only gotten worse in Sokovia ever since, with the Humans and Dragons who lived there nearly in open civil war with each other.</p><p>Wanda and Pietro, though, only called it a blood debt when they needed to remind Phil that they would help him in whatever way they could.  Otherwise, and if Phil was honest, it was like the Dragons had been his own children even <em>before</em> he’d gotten the paperwork to make it official, and they’d imprinted on him the beat he’d held them both in his arms, tiny things who couldn’t even speak yet, but understood that they were safe with the stranger who’d protected them from the murderers who’d been after the bounty that some asshole had put up on Dragon skulls. </p><p>They’d sailed with him on the <em>Dream</em> for as long as they could, but then they’d gotten too big to do so.  It had been almost heart wrenching the first time they’d had to stay behind on Zephyr Cay, but eventually the three of them had gotten used to the separation.  It didn’t make it any easier, but that was the way of things, really.</p><p>Absently he wondered how the twins would have felt having a Human archer as a father-by-marriage…</p><p>No.  Phil had to put that thought out of his mind at once.  That way led to pining and madness and heartbreak.</p><p>Not that he wasn’t going to be feeling that anyway.  But, as long as Clint was happy, he would be fine with whoever he ended up marrying, for the good of his kingdom.</p><p>Sighing, the Aalveyn listened in as Wanda chided her brother about proper dental care, while Pietro glared at her as if she was speaking another language.  It really was quite entertaining, and he couldn’t help smiling at both of them.</p><p>He really loved those two Dragons with everything he had.  </p><p>A sudden knock at the door had Phil starting in surprise.  He hadn’t been expecting anyone today; although any of his crew were prone to stopping by, but they all knew they could just walk right in without waiting for permission.  Daisy, Jemma, and Leo were actually staying in the house with him currently, but all three were out with friends, and they also would have just announced themselves and come right on in without knocking.</p><p>He made his way through his living room to the front door, which wasn’t locked.  There really wasn’t a need to there in Cayside, as there wasn’t much crime on the island thanks to Izzy and Victoria and their people.  Besides, he had two Dragons who often hung around, so everyone knew who lived in the rather large two-story home near the docks.  It wasn’t easy to hide a Dragon, after all, and the entire island knew who Wanda and Pietro were, and how they were connected to Phil himself.</p><p>Phil pulled the door open, to reveal Jasper Sitwell standing there, looking harried.  There was someone behind him, but this person was too short for him to see over Jasper’s shoulder.  “What’s going on?” he asked, curious as to what would bring the Port Authority to his door.  He and Jasper were good friends, had known each other even before Jasper had come to work on the Cay – he’d been the one to technically hire him, actually – and they often went out for drinks together when Phil was in residence, if only to bitch about shit they’d had to deal with in their various duties.  Jasper hated graft of any sort and wasn’t afraid to say so, but he also wasn’t above lying in the reports he had to send back to Triskelia periodically.</p><p>Jasper’s reports back to the main Port Authority on the main island were pure delights to read, so full of obfuscation and downright lies that everyone who knew the truth always got a genuine laugh out of them.  For someone who followed Good, Jasper could certainly tell lies that seemed so much like truth that anyone who didn’t know better would believe them.  Phil was glad that ability was firmly on their side.</p><p>“This lady is looking for you.”  Jasper stepped aside, revealing the person who’d come with the harbormaster.</p><p>Phil’s eyes widened as he recognized her.  “Mistress Ana?” he exclaimed in surprise.  The house mistress of Stark Tower was the very last person he would have expected to show up on his doorstep. </p><p>He examined her closely.  She looked tired, dark circles under her eyes, skin a little pale.  Phil wondered how she’d gotten there, and then recalled that the woman was a self-shaper, and wouldn’t have needed to sail. </p><p>But why was she there in the first place?  Was something wrong?</p><p>“Captain,” Ana Jarvis sighed, smiling in relief.  Then she turned to Jasper.  “Thank you so very much, Harbormaster Sitwell.  I appreciate you showing me where to come.”</p><p>Jasper tipped his shaven head, touching his forehead with his index finger in a form of salute.  “No problem, Mistress Ana.  Glad to help.”  He gave Phil a look that said he’d be explaining everything later, preferably over drinks, and then meandered down the path toward the road, leaving them standing in the doorway.</p><p>“Please, come in.”  Phil ushered her inside.</p><p>The woman glanced around the living room, seemed to approve of Phil’s housekeeping skills, and then let him seat her on the small sofa that took up space in front of the fireplace.  It wasn’t lit; it was warm, late summer, and in these climes a fire wouldn’t have been needed until at least late autumn.</p><p>“Let me get you something to drink,” he went on, once she was seated, “and then you can tell me why you’re here.”  He really didn’t want to wait, but Phil believed in the rules of hospitality and wasn’t about to start grilling her about her reasons for being there.</p><p>Even though he <em>really</em> wanted to.</p><p>“A glass of water would be lovely,” she said gratefully, her slight accent a little thicker due to her obvious tiredness.</p><p>As he headed out to the kitchen to fetch the glass, Phil couldn’t stop wondering why Ana was there.  It had to have been something to do with Pepper, and the Aalveyn hoped that his cousin was alright. Suddenly, he was fearful for Pepper’s wellbeing.  Was she hurt, or injured in some way?  Or was it something worse?  Waverlyn could be a dangerous place, as testified to by Clint, who’d see a lot of the country in his travels as a mercenary.  </p><p>Distractedly, Phil added a small plate of the tiny pastries that Jemma liked, the ones with the snowberry jam in the center; the Aalveyn called them cookies, but Jemma, with her Brittanium upbringing, called them biscuits.  To Phil’s mind they were completely different from the biscuits his mother used to make.</p><p>All the while, his worry for Pepper grew.  But Ana didn’t seem distressed, which he knew she would have been if something truly was wrong with his cousin.  He knew how highly regarded Pepper was with the Jarvises, and he doubted that Ana would have put off telling him any sort of bad news if that was the case.</p><p>That thought relaxed him somewhat, because she wouldn’t have kept him suspense if anything was indeed wrong.  Still, he couldn’t even think of why she’d have come all the way from Stark Tower, so there had to have been a good reason for it, when a letter could have been sent instead.  And if it didn’t involve anything serious with his cousin…</p><p>Taking the glass of water and the plate back out into the living room, Phil handed the drink to his guest, and set the plate of cookies on the cushion next to her.  “What’s wrong?” he asked, getting himself settled in the overstuffed chair that was next to the side of the couch Ana had taken.  “Is it Pepper?”</p><p>Ana’s eyes widened over the glass; she’d been taking a very healthy sip as he’d asked his questions.  “Oh, no!” she exclaimed.  “She’s fine…although she did send me to find you.  I would have been here sooner, except every ship I saw that looked even vaguely like how she described to me, I checked to make sure.”  She smiled self-deprecatingly.  “I’m quite certain some of the crews were confused by the crazy sea bird that circled their ships, but…I had to be sure I didn’t miss you.  And, when I didn’t see you at sea, I came straight here where I did finally find your vessel, although I admit to getting a little lost along the way.  When I landed onboard, no one was there, so I approached that nice harbormaster who was kind enough to bring me here.”</p><p>Phil sent up a silent thanks up to the Twelve for it not being anything horrible.  “What happened then?”</p><p>“Mistress Pepper overheard something, something in Lord Obadiah Stane’s thoughts…”</p><p>So, she explained.  As Ana told him everything, it filled in a few blanks that had been in the puzzle that were events in Waverlyn.  It still didn’t explain how King Charles had figured things out, and just what this ritual was that Pepper had overheard?</p><p>Nick would need to know what was going on.</p><p>“And they’re going to Waverlyn Castle,” Ana continued, “where Mistress Pepper was hoping to overhear more about this Prince Francis…”  She went on to explain about this plan, and how Phil would have contributed to it.</p><p>Phil was appalled that both Pepper and Lord Tony Stark were trying to pull something so very dangerous.  If the timing was right, and Ana had left Stark Tower nearly three tendays ago as she’d said, then the party would already be at Waverlyn Castle.  The Aalveyn felt the very real need to panic; they were walking right into the heart of all the trouble in Waverlyn, without much more than good intentions and some fairly decent mind powers, as well as Lord Tony’s not-inconsiderable magical talents. </p><p>Yes, they had back-up from Lord Tony’s Skell friend – Pepper had written to Phil about Brukk Ban’ner, having been impressed with the Skell immensely.  And there was also Captain James Rhodes, a formidable warrior in his own right and Lord Tony’s oldest friend, who would also be around to watch out for them.  </p><p>But, four against an entire castle filled with King Charles’ sycophants?  <em>Damnit</em>, Pepper…he was proud and terrified at the same time.</p><p>Once Ana was finished, Phil stood, startling her a little.  “We have to get word to them,” he growled, pacing a little.  “They have to keep their heads down; they have no idea what they’re getting into!” He couldn’t believe that Pepper knew about Clint, as did Lord Tony and the people in the Stark Tower household.  Stane <em>had</em> to know that Pepper could read thoughts…had it been some sort of trap for her?  Was Obadiah Stane leading them all into something they might not be able to handle?</p><p>No.  Phil discarded that notion at once.  If it had, he doubted that Stane would have been able to hide that from Pepper in the first place.  While she wasn’t the strongest knower, his cousin was quite competent in her gifts, and if there had been nefarious purposes involved she would have sensed them…or at the very least, she would have been able to tell the information was being fed to her.  Pepper was intelligent and able to tell when someone was lying.</p><p>“But the Prince!” Ana sounded upset.</p><p>“The Prince is safe,” he assured her.  “You don’t need to worry about him.”</p><p>Her eyes widened as she realized just what Phil was implying.  “You already know!” she exclaimed.  Then her hand came up to cover her mouth in dismay.  “But Lord Tony and Mistress Pepper!  And Captain Rhodes and Forgemaster Brukk!”</p><p>“That’s why we have to get word to them.” </p><p>With that, Phil strode toward the open window to the back yard, calling for Wanda and Pietro as he went.  Pietro, being the faster of the two, was at the window at once, poking his head into the room.  “What is it?” he asked.</p><p>Ana squeaked in surprise, and Phil remembered that she’d never met either Dragon before. “It’s alright.  This is Pietro, and his sister is Wanda.”  He turned back toward the silver Dragon, whose dark eyes were staring at Ana with curiosity.  “Pietro, this is Ana Jarvis.  She knows my cousin, Pepper.”</p><p>The Dragon’s eyes lit up and he smiled, revealing those rather deadly teeth.  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he greeted politely.  “Pepper’s mentioned you in letters to Phil.”</p><p>Wanda, who managed to squeeze her head in beside her brother’s, also said hello to Ana, her smile a little less outrageous but just as sincere.</p><p>“I need one of you to fly to Nick’s,” he told them.  “Bring him and Clint back here.  It’s rather urgent.”</p><p>“I’ll go,” Pietro volunteered, “I’m faster.”</p><p>With that, he was away, leaving Wanda to keep her head in the room. “What’s wrong, Phil?”</p><p>“Pepper has stepped right into trouble,” he told the remaining Dragon.  He still couldn’t believe that Obadiah Stane, of all people, knew about Clint…or, at least, Prince Francis.  But then, Stane was a confidante of King Charles, so there was that, and if the King knew then those closest to him did as well.  And this ritual…that didn’t sound good at all, but perhaps Nick might have some clue as to what that might mean.  “We’re going to need to get her and her friends out of it.”</p><p>“Pietro and I will help in whatever way we can,” the scarlet Dragon promised. </p><p>He gave her a smile, appreciating the sentiment but not yet knowing exactly how they were going to be accomplishing this yet.</p><p>Phil knew that they would need to get word to Pepper and Lord Tony.  Pepper would have to be warned not to poke her nose into anything, that Prince Francis was safe and well, and that she didn’t need to be doing any saving.  The Aalveyn had to admit that he <em>was</em> proud of her, for wanting to do what was right, but she and Lord Tony weren’t needed to ride to the rescue any longer. </p><p>He was also pretty impressed, truth be told, by their determination to walk right into that damned castle and try to be spies.</p><p>Still, he was going to give Pepper a piece of his mind the next time he saw her.  Just for putting herself into that sort of peril, even if she thought she had a good reason for it.</p><p>“But how did you find out?” Ana pressed.  “How did you already <em>know</em>?”</p><p>Phil didn’t know how much he could say.  A lot of what he’d learned, had been told in confidence, and just because Nick didn’t seem to care much for keeping the Aalveyn’s secrets, didn’t mean that Phil would be doing the same with his friend’s.  “That is a long and complicated story,” he told her, “and not one I’m certain I can share.  But I have met Prince Francis, he’s alive, and he was rescued from the old castle by two people who should really remain nameless at the moment.”  Not that he knew one of those names, of course.  Widows gave up their names when they put on their masks, from what he could recall, and Nick hadn’t shared that much.</p><p>Ana was nodding.  “I do understand.  But, Captain Phil…” she reached out and took his hand.  “If there truly is a Prince of Waverlyn, one that can save our people…then we must do everything we can to give him that chance.”</p><p>He gave her a reassuring smile.  “And we will.  But we’re going to need to get word back to Pepper and Lord Tony.  They can’t bring attention to themselves, not now.  If King Charles knew that Pepper had overheard just a little of his plans…”</p><p>She returned his smile.  “Perhaps, at some point, we’ll have our own parts to play.”</p><p>Phil squeezed her fingers.  “I’m thinking you will.  But we can’t give anything away until the plans are in order.”</p><p>He really wanted to share what plans they <em>did</em> have, but they couldn’t risk anything getting back to the Waverlyn Court, especially the King.  Clint’s life was already in danger, and this would make it much worse than it already was.</p><p>It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Ana.  It was anyone else out there he didn’t trust.</p><p>“Please know,” Wanda cut in gently, “that we will do everything in our power to protect the Prince.  He has become a dear friend.”  The look she gave Phil was quite suggestive in the extreme, but he wasn’t about to rise to the bait.  She’d been trying hard to get him to admit how he really felt and to do something about it, but Phil couldn’t do that.  What he felt for Clint was doomed before it had even begun to take root in his heart; he was Human, and Phil would outlive him, but that reason was subsumed beneath the certain knowledge that Clint would have to marry for dynastic reasons, and being with Phil wasn’t going to get the future King his much needed heir. </p><p>His loved ones were just hopeless romantics.  They weren’t taking all of the reasons it wouldn’t work into consideration.  All they were seeing was that Phil had feelings for the archer, but that just wasn’t enough.</p><p>Even Daisy had been getting in on the act lately, dragging Jemma and Leo in with her.  Phil had told them to stop many times, but that wasn’t working as nearly well as it should.  He understood that they wanted him to be happy, but there was no happiness to be had in this situation.  It was only going to make him miserable in the end, and they needed to realize that.</p><p>He was saved from responding by the glass doors into the back yard opening and Nick, followed by Clint, stepping through, leaving the door open in order for Pietro to stick his head into the room as the Dragon rested his bulk in the grass.  Phil’s heart clenched almost painfully at seeing the archer again; he hadn’t really known how <em>much</em> he’d missed him until that beat. </p><p>He looked good, dressed all in somber black except for a very dark purple trim at the front of his sleeveless tunic, his quiver at his back with bow hooked over it.  And, if possible, his arms looked even more impressive than they had just three tendays ago.</p><p>But it was the air of confidence around him that was truly attractive.  And yet, there was still that vulnerability in his eyes, as if he still couldn’t quite believe where he was, and <em>what</em> he was.</p><p>Phil wanted to say something to him, but couldn’t.  Not now. </p><p>“What’s going on?” Nick demanded roughly, his own black clothing seeming to suck in most of the light in the room. </p><p>Phil proceeded to introduce Ana, and explain.</p><p>Completely ignoring the rather inconvenient emotions he was feeling toward a certain Heir to the Waverlyn throne, who was standing and listening rather intently, his multicolored eyes watching Phil as he talked.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Chapter 29</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Clint crouched, bow in one hand, other flat on the ground, the cool earth under his fingers and the scent of it in his nostrils, fresh and familiar.</p><p>He was in the strip of forest behind Fury’s house.  The priest had a grove there, where he would worship outside when the urge took him, and the very power of that place was soothing, the shadows like a comforting blanket.  However, that wasn’t were Clint was; this was a separate location, and he was waiting for the signal that he knew would come.</p><p>In the near three tendays since he’d begun training with Nick Fury, Clint had learned so much about his mother and himself, it was like his eyes had been opened to another world.  Fury wasn’t a traditional sort of teacher; honestly, if the archer had had the man in school when he was growing up, chances were he’d have learned so much more than he had.  He hardly ever resorted to the <em>Book of the Eternities</em>, which had surprised Clint and, when he did, it was usually a lesson having to do with his own place in the world rather than something the Deity had done.  Fury’s, “Read the Deities’ damned book, Barton,” was a rare refrain that had the archer chuckling at times. </p><p>Oh, that wasn’t to say he liked the priest.  He didn’t.  But he sure as Havens respected the man, and had gained so much just over the short time that he was willing to forgive a lot of Fury’s condescension.</p><p>Well, maybe not <em>a lot</em>…alright, none at all, because Fury <em>was</em> a condescending asshole and the hunter found himself wanting to punch his smug face in on random occasions.</p><p>When he wasn’t on the path of self-discovery, Clint would ask for stories about his parents.  Fury would oblige, although they were more about his mother’s Avatar, Queen Edith of Waverlyn.  The archer had learned that he’d somehow picked up the surname that she’d used when she’d met the King: Barton, and had used it for his own.  Fury had commented that he’d been irritated that he hadn’t been searching for someone named Barton sooner, but Clint didn’t have any clue how the priest should have known.  He’d taken the name because it had been the first one to come to him after he’d left the foster home he’d been living in, liking it and thinking it was suitable.</p><p>Maybe it was just one more thing his mother had gifted him, and he just hadn’t realized it.</p><p>Speaking of gifts...</p><p>The hunter was practicing one of his newest skills at the tick.  While he couldn’t actually talk to animals like druids could – and Fury had been a little disappointed in that, even though he himself couldn’t do it either – Clint could use his senses to locate them, and his connection to Lucky was particularly strong.  The dog had always been receptive to Clint’s orders, but now…it was as if Lucky understood exactly who the archer was, and was following him because of his connection to the Deity as much as he was in friendship. </p><p>Clint’s sense of Lucky’s emotions had grown, and that helped him pinpoint where his faithful companion was… about a thousand paces ahead, attention on something that Clint believed was a Flutterbye, if his senses of the woods were accurate. The creature was teasing the animal, darting close then flying away, and Lucky was entranced.  Not that he could overly blame the dog; Flutterbyes were very rare and hardly ever encountered outside the more primordial of forests, and to see one would have been enough to distract anybody.</p><p>Smiling, Clint dug his fingers a little deeper into the soil.  Through that contact he could sense the living things that burrowed in the earth; the insects, and worms, and there was a family of moles not that far away, tucked up safe within their burrow.  Far below the surface, the hunter thought he caught the sleeping form of one of the Great Wyrms, slumbering away the turns until it was time for it to awaken once more.  It was deep, but it was a creature of Clint’s mother, and therefore gave him a much greater sense of its presence through his gifts.</p><p>It was scary and awesome at the same time.</p><p>He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Fury that he’d believed he was ordinary.  Clint had honestly thought that.  But now…he was truly beginning to believe that there was more to him than just the mercenary who didn’t know who his true parents were, who didn’t belong anywhere.  He’d had middling gifts, was nothing special, and had honestly assumed he’d die mostly unmourned one day.   </p><p>But, ever since he’d come to Zephyr Cay…he’d learned so much about himself, and his gifts.  He didn’t want to thank Fury for anything, but he grudgingly had to, just for the exploration of what he could do now that he was aware of those gifts.</p><p>That Flutterbye was still tormenting Lucky and totally distracting him, so Clint stood, making his way toward the place where he knew his dog was, wanting to see the creature for himself.  As a hunter, Clint had learned tracking, and had been quite good at it; his teacher had once claimed he was <em>too</em> good and had ended up learning from the student.  He could read the signs of someone passing across nearly every sort of terrain; if he hadn’t known how, he never would have been able to hunt his own food.  He’d instinctively known what he could eat and what he couldn’t, both plant and animal, and he’d never really questioned that this was also a part of his gifts. </p><p>It had been gratifying to show Fury what he could do on that front.  The priest had been grudgingly impressed. </p><p>He’d also always been able to move silently, like a ghost through the world, no matter the terrain.  Now, however, he’d learned he could be more than just stealthy…he could walk through shadows, moving unseen along the paths of darkness, as easy as breathing, weaving them about him like a cloak.  He did that now, not wanting to spook the Flutterbye or surprise Lucky, his feet taking him along the merged shadows under the trees, blending into them as if he he’d become shadow himself.</p><p>It took no time at all for him to find the silly dog.  Lucky was sitting in a small clearing, his attention fully engaged on the Flutterbye…which was now perched on the end of his nose.  Lucky was completely still, as if he didn’t want to startle the creature, the Flutterbye’s colorful, gossamer wings shivering slightly as it stared at Lucky, the dog’s single eye not even blinking as the pair of them continued to watch the other. </p><p>It was funny, and Clint couldn’t help the snort of laughter from escaping, which gave away his position in one of the darker shadows a few paces away.</p><p>The Flutterbye’s head snapped toward the sound and, with a flick of those wings, it launched itself off Lucky’s nose, bobbing toward Clint with intent.  Flutterbyes were fae creatures, in the basic shape of mortals but only a handspan tall, with pale green skin and eyes that were far too large for its tiny face, with two legs and two arms, those wings buzzing a little as it flew. </p><p>The archer let the shadows fall away, standing still and waiting for the Flutterbye to approach, not wanting to startle it even more than he already had.  He’d only seen a Flutterbye once before, and that had been from a distance.  They were shy around the larger beings, yet this one didn’t seem to be afraid as it floated toward the waiting hunter.</p><p>Clint instinctively lifted a hand, offering the Flutterbye a place to land.</p><p>To his complete and utter surprise, it accepted, alighting gently onto his palm.</p><p>Flutterbyes were creatures of Air and Light, created by the God during the Third Eternity, when the world was young and before even the Aalveyn were brought into being.  This one was beautiful, with a brilliant purple frill of hair around its tiny face, its eyes the exact same shade, thin antenna arching up from what looked to be the inner corners of those bright eyes.  The green skin was smooth, and there was a faint scattering of scales across its bare shoulders, its thin, genderless form graceful as it swayed in place on Clint’s hand, feet warm against his skin. </p><p>As he watched, the creature began to sing, body dancing along to the song.</p><p>Clint didn’t understand the words, but they were primal, and he unconsciously began to sway as the Flutterbye tilted its head back, lost in the song itself.  It was of creation, and light, and the need for shadows as well, and of the birth of wild things under the sun and moons.  It <em>spoke</em> to him, in ways the archer would never be able to explain, and he let himself be enchanted by the tiny being as it gave him a private concert among the trees that rustled in counterpoint to the wildly magical tune.</p><p>In the music he could see the Deities walking the world, their footsteps light upon the earth and yet as heavy as time itself.  Ethereal beings, power flowing from their fingertips as they wove through the very Eternities themselves, children of the One Above All, their majesty a mirror to the supreme being that had been born in the Emptiness and had brought into it the multitudes of universes and Deities that now existed. </p><p>As he stood there, listening, one of the Deities visible within the song – in his minds’ eye, where the unknown words had taken him – turned toward him.  It began as an amorphous thing, of darkness and shadow, and resolved itself into a woman, not beautiful but quite striking in appearance, with dark hair and blue eyes, her skin smooth as she smiled, the shadows shaping themselves into riding leathers and finely spun cloth blouse, tall boots on her feet.  A quiver was at her back, bow peeking up over her shoulder, knife at her belt.</p><p>Clint lost his ability to breathe, recognizing what the images in his inner vision were showing him.</p><p>It was the Huntress, Darkness, Secrets, Earth.  Creator of all the animals of the world.</p><p>It was his mother.</p><p><em>“My son.” </em>Her voice was like bells in the moonslight, the darkness just before dawn. </p><p>“Mother.”  Clint had no idea if he was saying that aloud, or in his head…or his heart. </p><p><em>“My beautiful baby boy.  It is so very good to see you.” </em>Her smile faded, went small, and she stepped up so close Clint could swear he could feel the shadows surrounding her.  <em>“I have so very little time; I am too weak to linger.  But there is something you need to know, something you must do in order to aid me in my recovery.”</em></p><p>In that instant, Clint knew he would do anything for her.  This was Darkness, his true mother, the Deity who had come to Marvala and had taken an Avatar, and had given birth to him. </p><p>As a child, the archer had wondered about his real parents.  The foster family he’d been placed with hadn’t known anything about them, or why they’d chosen to give him up.  There had been a part of Clint who’d had hard feelings about that, had thought perhaps he hadn’t been good enough for them to keep.  He’d long ago given up on his birth parents, just as he’d believed they’d given up on him. </p><p>But he knew the truth now.  His parents hadn’t given him up; they’d been taken from him, killed by an older half-brother who’d been driven crazy for power.  One day, Clint would like to get Charles’ reasons for doing what he’d done: making a deal with Evil and killing his own father for a throne. </p><p>He wasn’t sure he’d get the answers he wanted, but it was a wish he had anyway.</p><p>
  <em>“In my last moments, I gifted something to Marcus, my faithful Acolyte…I gave him a fraction of my power, to hold in reserve, knowing that it would be needed someday.  That needs to be set free, to rejoin my essence, and I can finally begin to heal and the balance between myself and my brother Light can be restored.”</em>
</p><p>Clint was confused.  Just how did that sort of thing work, anyway?  How did a Deity put their power into a mortal?</p><p>His mother smiled, cocking her head a little.  <em>“That would take too long to explain; however, I knew that I would have to hide until the time was right to be revealed.  That time is soon, my son, and when it arrives you will need to be ready to set that part of me free.”</em></p><p>“Tell me how.”  He wanted his mother back to her full strength. </p><p>In answer, she placed cool fingers on his forehead – at least, in the images he was being given, she did – and suddenly it was as if Clint’s mind was opening like one of the first flowers of spring, and knowledge began to flood in.  It should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t.  It almost felt as if he was being given back something he’d lost, and he couldn’t explain that sensation.</p><p>When it was over, his mother let her hand drop.  <em>“Do you understand?”</em></p><p>“Yes.”  He couldn’t have said how he understood, but he did.  “But how will I know when the time is right?”</p><p>She gave him a genuinely proud smile.  <em>“You shall.  I promise.” </em></p><p>With that, she took several steps back, her form wavering as she lost the cohesion she’d had.  Clint wanted nothing more to have her back, to pull her into a hug and never let go.  But he couldn’t; she didn’t exist physically, only through the magic of the Flutterbye’s song, and he wished more than anything to be able to hold her someday.</p><p><em>“You will, if all goes well.” </em>His mother gave him a single nod, then her smile turned knowing.  <em>“And remember, dear child…Darkness cannot exist without Light.”</em></p><p>With those cryptic final words, the illusion broke completely, leaving Clint once again standing in the clearing, the Flutterbye’s song fading away into the sound of the breeze through the leaves. </p><p>The magical creature lifted away from his palm, but didn’t go far; it alighted on his shoulder, as if content to go where he did, a tiny hand pulling slightly on his collar as it settled itself on its new perch.  Well, who was Clint to deny it coming along with him?  After all, it had allowed him to see his mother, if only in his thoughts. </p><p>He wished he knew how that had worked, and if it could happen again.</p><p>Lucky gave a snuffle, and the archer glanced down at his companion.  The dog was looking up at him, his tail wagging happily, tongue lolling out in a doggy smile. </p><p>Clint rolled his eyes at him fondly.  “You weren’t supposed to get distracted,” he chided, laughing.  “You were supposed to signal me when you found what I hid out there for you to search for.” </p><p>He’d been working with Lucky, honing his senses in the forest and with his canine friend.  Lucky might have been an overprotective mutt when needed, and lazy when he wanted, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to work.  And finding a Flutterbye would have been enough to make anyone forget their task, so he couldn’t blame Lucky for getting sidetracked.</p><p>Clint turned and left the forest, heading back toward Fury’s house with the Flutterbye coming along with him.  It somehow felt right to have it on his shoulder, and he wondered if the tiny creature had a name.  He’d have to come up with something, because he couldn’t keep calling it ‘it’ in his head.</p><p>He stopped and dug up the tiny box he’d hidden for Lucky to find, understanding that the exercise was over for the day.  It had been something he’d picked up at Fury’s house, in the room he’d been given when he’d started his training.  The priest had insisted that Clint stay with him, the better to monitor his training, and while the archer really wasn’t all that fond of the man at least they seemed to get along halfway decently.  And, when they didn’t, they had no compunctions about yelling at each other until it was out of their systems.</p><p>He had to wonder how Fury was going to react when it came time to release the power that Clint’s mother had hidden within him.  He was having a bit of a hard time with the idea that Fury had no idea it was there; the priest seemed pretty self-aware.  But then, this was a Deity’s work, and the hunter had understood what she’d put into his head for later. </p><p>Clint really wanted to talk to someone about it.  And the only person he could think of was Phil.</p><p>The problem with that, was the fact that Clint hadn’t really seen Phil ever since he’d started his training with Fury.  So, he wasn’t sure how Phil would react if he suddenly showed up on the Aalveyn’s doorstep.</p><p>As Clint cleared the trees, a shape flew overheard.  He glanced up, and saw the silvery form of Pietro the Dragon coming in to land at Fury’s house.  Picking up the pace, the archer began to run toward the building; Pietro and his sister, Wanda, always stayed with Phil when the Aalveyn was at home, so for him to show up like that…heart pounding, Clint prayed to any Deity who would listen that nothing had happened to Phil, that everything was alright…</p><p>A heavy weight settled into the pit of his stomach and he increased his pace.  He’d purposely kept away from Phil, knowing that nothing could happen between them and wanting to spare himself the pain of the eventual separation.   And, from what Peggy had shared with him about Phil feeling the same…well, it was easy being a coward and not using his words when it appeared that the other half of the emotions being felt was doing the same. </p><p>Still, it hadn’t worked all that well.  But he was too stubborn to go back on his plan even though he’d known it was a useless notion in the first place.</p><p>And now, he was running toward Pietro, as Fury emerged from the house at the uproar, his worry for Phil making his feet move faster than even he was aware of.</p><p>“—is asking you and Clint to come,” he heard the Dragon say as he got closer. </p><p>“Did he say why?” Fury wanted to know.</p><p>“He wants to explain it when you get there.”</p><p>“What’s going on?” Clint asked a little breathlessly, stopping next to the priest.</p><p>“Oh, good,” Pietro said, turning to look at him, “I don’t have to go searching…”  His dark eyes widened.  “Is that what I think it is?”</p><p>Clint suddenly wanted to hide the Flutterbye from the Dragon’s sight.  “It’s my new friend,” he answered, trying not to sound defensive and thinking he’d done a good job of it.</p><p>Fury looked just as surprised, and then one side of his mouth quirked upward.  “Just when I don’t think you can surprise me anymore, Barton.”  He shook his head wryly.</p><p>And Clint wondered just how surprised he would be when he learned that he was carrying a piece of his Deity around with him…</p><p>But, no.  He couldn’t say anything now.  Mother had asked him to wait.</p><p>“Is Phil alright?” Clint wanted to know.</p><p>The Dragon nodded.  “Something’s happened, and he asked me to come and fetch you and Nick to his house.  He’ll explain it when we get there.”</p><p>That had Clint’s stress letting up a little, but the very idea that Phil had sent Pietro to come and get them…</p><p>Before Clint could register what he was even doing, he was heading toward the Dragon, who knelt and extended a leg without having to be asked.  “Go to Phil’s,” he ordered Lucky; the dog barked in agreement, tearing off around the house and racing toward town. Being gentle, the archer gathered up the Flutterbye and tucked the diminutive creature into his tunic, where it snuggled in for the ride against his chest.</p><p>Fury joined him, and there was a little shifting before both men could sit comfortably without getting in the way of Pietro’s wings, but then they were off, the Dragon arcing back toward the area of Cayside where Phil had his home.</p><p>While flying Dragonback was a lot faster than taking the horse the Clint seemed to have gained permanently, to his mind it was still too slow.  It seemed to take forever for Pietro to circle in for a landing in Phil’s back yard, where Wanda was waiting for them.  The red Dragon seemed pretty calm, so that was another little bit of worry that the archer lost as Pietro settled carefully onto the grass, and Clint was sliding off before all four of the Dragon’s claws were on the ground.</p><p>Clint hadn’t been at the back of the house, only inside it.  The back wall was nearly all windows, even the second story, and they were all thrown open in order to give the two Dragons access to the inside…at least, their heads, since they wouldn’t have fit bodily within the building.  The archer had been inside once, and he’d seen all those windows from that perspective, and had wondered if Phil had had them put in for the Dragons or if the house had come that way. </p><p>Through them, Clint could make out the living room and kitchen.  The first floor of the Aalveyn’s home was all open, the only walls were leading into the privy under the stairs and the guest room that Phil had claimed to have turned into a study.  He hadn’t been inside either on his first and only visit to the house, just the large front room, with its comfortable furnishings and lived-in look. </p><p>A couple of days after that visit, he’d had fantasies of living in that house, with Phil, and forgetting their destinies and just being together.  Of hanging around with the found family that the Aalveyn had gathered around himself; his crew, and the friends he’d gained when settling on Zephyr Cay.  His two Dragon “children” and the kids that sailed with him, and who stayed in the rooms upstairs when the <em>Dream </em>was in port…Daisy, and Jemma and Fitz, the youngest members of Phil’s crew. </p><p>It had caused a sharp pain of loss in his chest, and tears in his eyes. Clint had sworn never to think about it again.</p><p>Through those windows, Clint could make out Phil, standing and pacing in front of the fireplace, a woman seated on the couch.  For a beat, a hot flair of jealousy shot through the archer, but he forcibly pushed it aside.  He had no hold on Phillipjaraynan’coulson, and never would.</p><p>That jealousy, though, was very swiftly followed up by <em>want</em>.  He’d not seen Phil so <em>naked</em> before; the captain of <em>Lola’s Dream </em>had often been very well dressed, even when he’d been working around his ship in whatever capacity was needed.  Now, though, he was wearing a thin linen vest that was open at the front, revealing more than just a hint of chest hair, with no sleeves to hide those well-muscled forearms…and biceps.  Damn, those biceps.   His trousers were a little faded at the knees, as if he’d knelt in them far too many times – and didn’t <em>that</em> just create images Clint didn’t need – and his feet were bare.</p><p>The only other time he’d ever seen those bare feet, it had made Clint realize that he had a currently unknown kink and that kink was rearing its head once more.</p><p>No, it was best not to think the word ‘head’ right then.</p><p>And, honestly, couldn’t the man dress the way he wanted to in his own home?  The archer shoved all that desire down so deep, and yet he was still very much aware it was still there as he watched Phil at his pacing, the woman looking on almost fretfully.</p><p>Fury, however, took one look at the stranger and cursed.  He strode toward the open back door like a man on a mission, and Clint followed close behind, curious to know why the woman would have caused such a reaction, although that curiosity didn’t make him unaware of Phil’s presence.</p><p>The woman stood as they entered.  She was small, and Human, and her aura was that of Peace, a self-shaper.  She had auburn hair and dark eyes, looked to have been about forty turns, and appeared to be tired.  Her clothing was well-kept and, if Clint had to guess, she looked to be some sort of house servant or shopkeeper. </p><p>Phil turned the moment Fury crossed the threshold.  The archer wanted to go right up to him and check on him; he looked harried, as if he’d received some news that he didn’t like, and couldn’t do anything about.  His eyes caught Clint’s and…and he had to be imagining it, but the Aalveyn seemed to minutely relax the beat he caught sight of the hunter.  Because Phil couldn’t feel that way, not after Clint had stayed away, no matter what Peggy had told him those three tendays ago back in that cornfield. </p><p>He <em>couldn’t</em>.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Nick growled.  His single eye was on the woman, and Clint got the impression that he really did know her, but hadn’t actually met her before.</p><p>“This is Mistress Ana Jarvis,” Phil introduced.  “She works for Lord Tony Stark at Stark Tower…” He looked back at the woman.  “Ana, this is Priest Nick Fury, and Hunter Clint Barton.  Tell them exactly what you told me.”</p><p>The more Mistress Ana said, the more alarmed Clint became.  It seemed as if the King wasn’t the only one who knew about him, who was seeking him.  And this so-called ritual…what was that, exactly?  Fury’s expression turned pensive when she mentioned it, but it seemed like he didn’t know what it was any more than Clint himself did.  Just what did King Charles want with him?  They’d all been assuming that it was to keep Clint from taking the throne.  But, what if it was for some other reason?  And just what did this ritual do to play into that?</p><p>It seemed as if Phil trusted this woman implicitly, but Clint didn’t know her.  Oh, he knew about Lord Anthony Stark.  He’d even once worked for the man, although he’d never met the mage.  From the rumors he had heard, Lord Tony was one of the most powerful devotees of Magic in the world, and he was known for his many lovers – both men and women – and his philanthropy.  The job Clint had done for him had been to escort a caravan of supplies to one of the more remote areas on Stark Lands, where the tenants had been suffering under a drought that had destroyed their crops and had caused sickness to run rampant through the tiny village.  So, that part about Lord Tony caring about people was obviously correct.</p><p>He’d also heard of Mistress Pepper, the Chatelaine of Stark Tower.  There weren’t as many stories about her; Clint knew that she was Aalveyn, and the reason that the Tower and Lands were in such excellent order.  A devotee of Good, apparently, given her knower abilities.  From what he <em>did</em> know, she was an efficient Chatelaine, who could manage both Lord Tony and his household with an even hand.</p><p>There had also been word that a Skell had taken up residence at Stark Tower but, like with Mistress Pepper, no one had much in the way of stories about him. </p><p>And those three, along with one other, had decided to walk into danger, not knowing who this Prince Francis was, because it was the right thing to do.</p><p><em>Damnit</em>.</p><p>At some point in the story Lucky had arrived, and was leaning against Clint’s leg, giving him his own version of support.  The archer reached down and rested a hand on the dog’s head, welcoming him and acknowledging his presence.</p><p>“I don’t know if I told you, Clint,” Phil said, once Mistress Ana was done, “but Pepper is my cousin.  Virgianalanyan’coulson.”  One side of his mouth quirked upward in a fond smile.  “We’ve called her Pepper ever since she stood her ground against two much larger boys who were teasing one of the very few <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn that had been at our school at the time.  She got them to back down just by the power of her sharp tongue.”</p><p>“Sounds like I’d like her,” Clint commented lightly.</p><p>“You would.  And she would like you as well.”</p><p>The archer’s heart clenched a little at the expression on the Aalveyn’s face, like Phil wanted more than anything for Clint to meet her and be her friend.  That expression changed immediately to polite interest, and he missed it immediately.</p><p>There was a twitch against his skin, and Clint recalled that he had a passenger.  He reached into his tunic, letting the Flutterbye clamber out into his hand.  The tiny creature huffed a little then, with a beat of its wings, flew over to the table next to the couch, landing on a book that lay there. </p><p>Phil’s eyes widened, and Mistress Ana gasped. “Is that…?” the Aalveyn blurted in surprise.</p><p>“My new friend,” Clint commented, pride flowing through him at their reaction.  It had been different with Fury; he’d felt defensive over the idea that he might have gained a Flutterbye as a companion.  With Phil, though…Flutterbyes were creatures of Light, and that gave Phil a connection to the being that no one else had.</p><p>The Flutterbye stared up at Phil.  It sang a single, high note and, once it was certain it had the Aalveyn’s full attention, it bowed low, a true genuflection of honor and obeisance that had Phil taking a single step back, his hand on his chest over his heart.</p><p>The Flutterbye straightened, and then began to sing once more.  Clint didn’t see any of the visions its song had first brought about, but then this song wasn’t for him.  It was for Phil, who was listening intently, as if he could understand that otherworldly sound.</p><p>“You can interpret that?” Clint demanded, once the song was done.</p><p>Phil shook his head.  “No…yes, it’s hard to explain.”</p><p>“You wanna try?” Fury prompted.</p><p>“It…it’s <em>almost</em> like the language I use when I call the maelstrom,” the Aalveyn admitted.  “And <em>that</em> particular intonation is…” He sighed.  “It’s <em>instinctual</em>.  I remember when I first picked up the Maelstrom Harp,” he waved a hand toward the Harp, which was hanging from a set of hooks over the mantel, “I just <em>knew</em> what to sing in order to call a storm.  I knew exactly what the words meant, and what they would do if I sang them.  I was told by one of my instructors that it was a primordial language, a <em>holy</em> language, brought into being by the Deities at the creation.  The Flutterbye speaks – <em>sings</em> – a variation of it.  More than I know of it.  I can catch bits and pieces, but I don’t know a lot of what they were saying.  If you really want an accurate translation, you should speak to Jasper.  He has a gift for languages.” </p><p>Clint hadn’t known that about Harbormaster Sitwell, and made a note to go and see him as soon as he could.  He really wanted to know more about what the Flutterbye was saying, especially since it seemed important.</p><p>The Flutterbye, as if it had said everything it wanted to, flew back to settle once again on Clint’s shoulder.  To the archer, it seemed as if it was quite satisfied with what he had imparted to Phil, and he was curious to know just what he’d been able to interpret.</p><p>At Clint’s question, Phil smiled in his direction.  “Their name is Hawkeye, by the way.”</p><p>Clint’s eyebrows rose.  “Really?”  Well, that would save him for having to come up with a name on his own. And was that what the Flutterbye identified as?  They?</p><p>Phil nodded.  “They were also sent…I think as a sign of favor from the Deity himself.  That part I wasn’t so sure of.” </p><p>
  <em>Darkness cannot exist without Light.</em>
</p><p>The words echoed in Clint’s mind, and it wasn’t until Fury agreed with them that he realized he’d said them out loud.  “Words of wisdom,” the Priest replied.  “It’s why Light has been getting more powerful while Darkness is waning.  The two aren’t in balance any longer.”</p><p>Phil seemed to visibly shake himself, turning back to Fury.  “We need to warn Pepper, to keep her sticking her nose into something that could get her killed…or worse.”</p><p>“I’ll go to Castle Waverlyn immediately,” Mistress Ana spoke up.  She was looking at Clint as if she was trying to read his mind, but since she followed Peace and not Good there was no way for her to do that.  “I can fly there faster than what it took me to get here, since I don’t have to check every ship I come across to make certain it’s the right one.”  She had a light accent, which Clint couldn’t identify.  Northern Sokovia, perhaps?  Maybe, but it wasn’t like Pietro and Wanda’s, although there could be a lot of reasons for the difference.</p><p>“You should go back to the Tower,” Fury insisted. </p><p>“But –” she protested.</p><p>“I have a contact within Waverlyn Castle,” the Priest told her.  “I can reach out to them and have them contact Mistress Pepper.”</p><p>Which Clint had suspected all along.  After all, he’d known about the king searching for the archer, and about the Royal Warrant, and had sent Phil to find him before King Charles had.  Fury had to have gotten that information from somewhere, so having a spy in the court only made sense.</p><p>Mistress Ana looked uncertain, but Phil reached out and took her hand.  “Your job is done, Ana.  We know what’s happening, and we can protect Pepper, Lord Tony, Captain Rhodes, and their Skell friend from getting into too much trouble.”</p><p>“But what about the Prince?” the woman asked worriedly.  “You said he was safe…”</p><p>“And he is,” the Aalveyn reassured her.  “We know where he is, and we’re going to do our best to protect him as well.”</p><p>She nodded.  “We need him.  <em>Waverlyn</em> needs him.”</p><p>Clint caught his breath.  Up until that beat, a lot of what he’d been told, had experienced, had been through the lens of a mercenary looking for his next job.  He’d seen the destabilization of Waverlyn first-hand, knew that it had to be fixed.  He also understood that he would be the one fixing it, if that were at all possible. </p><p>But, hearing this from someone who lived there, who worked there, and in that tone of voice…one of hope, and pride, made the knowledge that he was the true King of Waverlyn all that more real for him.  That people were actually depending on him to make things right.  It was an honor and terrifying and he made a mental vow to do everything he could to earn all that trust that Mistress Ana Jarvis was showing in someone she hadn’t even met officially yet.</p><p>Because she didn’t know that her King was standing right in front of her, a one-eyed dog leaning against him, a Flutterbye sitting on his shoulder, not at all looking kingly and instead like a normal person, armed with a bow and knife, a hunter in every sense of the word.  She had no idea what he could do, what gifts he’d known about and what he’d learned, in preparation to becoming King of Waverlyn.</p><p>That he was the son of Darkness.  Carried by an Avatar of the Deity, with both Human and Godly blood flowing through his veins.</p><p>The person she was resting all her hopes on.</p><p>“We know.”  Phil’s voice was soothing.  “You’ll stay here tonight, and then leave tomorrow.  You’re going to need rest before you can self-shape again.”</p><p>“I <em>am</em> tired,” she admitted. </p><p>“Then let me show you to a room,” he offered.  “I’m sure something that Daisy’s left here will fit you, so you don’t have to sleep in your clothes.”</p><p>“Thank you, Captain.”  She looked at him gratefully.</p><p>Clint thought he would feel jealous that Phil was leading her up the stairs, into the area of the house he hadn’t seen yet, but he wasn’t.  Now that he knew who she was, her being there didn’t feel as if she was encroaching in on his personal territory.</p><p>Which was completely the wrong way to feel, honestly.  Because this wasn’t his territory, and it never would be. </p><p>Clint needed to get over himself before he spent almost two tendays on a voyage to Aal’valla with Phil.  Although nothing was going to ever happen between them.  It was just he hated the idea of being in the presence of the man he loved – yes, he could say that to himself, just not aloud – and not being able to tell him.</p><p>Well, he was just going to have to get used to it.</p><p>He just wasn’t sure it was possible, because if keeping himself away for three tendays wasn’t enough to rid him of his feelings for the Aalveyn, he wasn’t sure what would.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Chapter 30</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>It didn’t take Phil long to get Ana settled.  He borrowed one of Daisy’s nightdresses, showed her where the privy and the bath was, and then left her in the only remaining guest room in the house with everything she’d need.  It was a good thing that he’d changed sheets on all the beds; he’d done it automatically just the other day, in order to gather together laundry to take down to the washers as he usually did once a tenday when he was in port.  He’d scheduled to pick things up later today, but he had the feeling that wasn’t going to happen.</p><p>As soon as he’d wished her a good rest, Phil headed back downstairs, knowing that Nick and Clint would be waiting, as well as Pietro and Wanda.  Nick’s revelation of a spy in the Waverlyn Court wasn’t a surprise, he even suspected he knew who it was, just from oblique comments his friend had made about the Widow who’d aided in Clint’s rescue from the massacre.  He knew that there was no official Widow assigned to King Charles and, besides, a Widow wouldn’t have been so obvious.  No, the Queen’s Widow was most likely hiding in plain sight, as a member of the court, and Phil had to wrack his brain to recall if he’d heard there was any Aalveyn there.  He thought there might have been but, as he’d never been that close to Waverlyn Castle, he couldn’t have been positive of that. He had to rely on rumor; however, he did have a good network in place of people who were willing to share such rumors with him.</p><p>The pair were still in the living room when he descended the staircase, Nick seated in a chair and Clint pacing a little, hands clasped just under the quiver on his back, the Flutterbye riding his shoulder as if it belonged there.  And it did, if what the creature has said was correct and Phil had been able to translate it all correctly, since its language was a little different from what he was used to utilizing himself.  Deities…it was a sign that their quest to put Clint on the throne was a just one, and it was something Phil wouldn’t ignore.</p><p>Lucky was sitting on the hearth, watching his master stride back and forth, which stopped as soon as Phil came off the last step and onto the landing.  The archer’s eyes met his, blue in the sunlight that was streaming in from outside, although the Aalveyn was aware that they could be any number of colors depending on mood.  He’d been a witness to their changeability, during the voyage from Waverlyn, when he’d been falling for the man without meaning to. </p><p>“We’re gonna need to move our plans forward,” Nick stated as Phil joined them.</p><p>He sat down on the couch.  “Melinda was thinking about leaving tomorrow anyway, she’s almost waited too long, and we were never really going to hear anything from Brittanium anyway.”  It was as close as Phil would ever get to saying, ‘I told you so’.  “But Peggy’s out on patrol, and we’re going to need to get the <em>Avenger </em>back here without raising any sorts of alarm with Governor Pierce.”</p><p>The <em>Avenger </em>was a warship of the Shield Islands and, as such, had certain responsibilities that needed to be carried out. One of those was patrolling for the pirates that made their hideouts on some of the more isolated islands, which were like warrens spread all throughout the Archipelago.  Not that that actually worked; the pirates could hide away easily, and they only came out when it involved a ship that <em>didn’t</em> fly the flag of the Shield Islands.  Anyone else was fair game.</p><p>And not a one of them was stupid enough to take on a well-armed ship like the <em>Avenger. </em> In Peggy’s opinion, the patrols were almost a waste of time, since any pirate worth their salt wasn’t going to show themselves if there was even a whiff of word that a warship was on the prowl.  Besides, it was very difficult to be stealthy in a ship like that, unlike the pirates’ faster and smaller vessels.</p><p>Besides, there were a few pirate crews with friends amongst the people of the Archipelago.  And Zephyr Cay was no different.</p><p>But Governor Pierce insisted, and the small fleet of warships belonging to the islands were required to patrol when ordered to.  And, as paranoid as he had been lately, it would have to be a really good excuse for a ship like the <em>Avenger </em>to leave their assigned patrol area.</p><p>“We would need to find a way to contact Peggy,” he pointed out, “unless you’ve got some sort of magic up your sleeve, Nick.”</p><p>“Unfortunately, I didn’t dare.  You know how crazy security measures are onboard the warships.  All it would have taken was one person doing some sort of scan and then the entire crew would be arrested for some sort of shit.  And Peggy said no when I suggested something like that to her.”</p><p>That would have been very true.  Peggy kept a clean ship, but that didn’t mean that someone couldn’t smuggle something onboard.  And, with them needing to lay over into port at Triskelion at least a few times a turn, and given Pierce’s paranoia…</p><p>Peggy had often complained that there were inspections every time the <em>Avenger</em> put into what was ostensibly her home port.  She’d said she felt insulted by it, and always had to make sure the vessel was scrubbed so well the deck planking shined, even though they’d usually been out on a long patrol and the entire crew was tired.  It was no wonder the entire compliment of the warship hated Pierce and his cronies with a passion.</p><p>That opinion wasn’t only held by the <em>Avenger</em>’s crew, either.  Especially Steve and James, who then had to pretend that they and Peggy weren’t lovers.  Peggy had sworn they’d only put into Triskelia where absolutely necessary, and she’d pretty much kept to that vow.</p><p>“And you can bet they’d have to report back to Triskelion if they left their patrol area,” Phil continued.</p><p>“We could always claim to have seen some pirates,” Clint pointed out.  “That should be a good enough excuse to get them back.”</p><p>Phil thought that was a good idea, and there was at least one crew who wouldn’t have minded being used in that sort of situation. </p><p>Nick considered. “That would work.  We just need to get word to Peggy.”</p><p>“We can do that,” Pietro piped up.  Phil turned to look at the Dragon twins; Pietro was practically laying across the threshold of the still open back door, his shoulders too wide to fit any further inside, and Wanda’s own scarlet head was poked through the open window.  She was giving her brother the side-eye.</p><p>“You’re always volunteering us for things,” she snorted, amused.</p><p>Pietro looked unrepentant.  “Because we’re often the best people for the job,” he pointed out.</p><p>Still, sending the twins <em>was</em> the best option; it was either them, or Carol, since they were the Cay’s only flyers.  Phil found himself nodding in agreement at the same time as Nick was.  Yes, they were still adolescents where Dragonkind was concerned, but finding a large ship on a predetermined patrol route wasn’t going to put them into any danger.  The Aalveyn gelt very protective of them, even though they had their own ways of protecting themselves. </p><p>“Jasper will know where the <em>Avenger </em>is patrolling,” Nick said.  “He’ll also be the best one to fake up some paperwork for us.”</p><p>“I heard he was good at that,” Clint chuckled.  “It’s hilarious that a follower of Good is such a fantastic liar.”</p><p>It amused Phil, too.  “He knows what he’s doing. And, to be honest, he hates Pierce’s stringent bureaucracy more than just about anyone else on this island.”  It was true.  He was always complaining about the new rules and regulations that the Governor insisted upon, since they made Jasper’s job that much more difficult.  Jasper Sitwell might have been a veritable wizard with paperwork, but that didn’t mean he <em>liked</em> actually doing it.  He was more of a maths sort of person, really, taking more pleasure in his journals and ledgers than in anything else.  As a follower of Good, he didn’t have the mental powers that knowers did, but he certainly was gifted in other ways. There were times when Phil was surprised that Jasper wasn’t more of Order than Good, to be honest.</p><p>Really, one of the best things to have happened to the Cay was the day Phil had met Jasper Sitwell.</p><p>“Then I’ll go and visit Jasper.”  With those words, Pietro extracted his head from the doorway and was gone, with his usual haste.  Wanda, rolling her eyes, at least bid them goodbye before she was following her sibling.</p><p>Phil watched them go fondly.  Wanda would keep Pietro from rushing off impetuously; she might have been the younger twin, but she was certainly more thoughtful than her brother and less likely to do anything without considering it first. </p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Clint looking at him, a small smile on his face.  In that beat, he could see every single one of the archer’s emotions in his expressive eyes, and any doubt that he’d had that Clint felt the same way he did fell away.  He knew they were going to need to talk about it, to get it out in the open, but it was something Phil wasn’t looking forward to.  Clint had to understand that there was nothing they could do to give into those emotions, even if the other might not know all of Phil’s reasons for wanting to keep his distance.  There was still the very real truth that Clint simply wasn’t his own man any longer; he was King of Waverlyn, even if he was in exile, and would need to marry and name a Queen in order to perpetuate the royal line.  And that was something Phil could not give him.</p><p>Yes, there were some Aalveyn who were fluid in their genders, but that was not him.  He was unabashedly male, with all the interior and exterior organs that made him that way.  Phil had, however, always been interested in other men, which was…well, not exactly frowned upon by his people but, with their heavy leaning toward bloodlines and the passing along of gifts to children, was considered a waste of resources.  If Phil had stayed among his clan, he might have eventually been pressed to take a wife, but he would have only done it for dynastic reasons.</p><p>He fully turned toward Clint, who was now looking at Nick, the Flutterbye on his shoulder and doing their own staring; and so was Lucky, as if the three of them were communicating on a mental level.  Phil’s oldest human friend had a faintly embarrassed expression on his face, which meant he had to have caught what the Aalveyn had seen.  Normally, Nick would have called out what he must have seen was idiocy, but he was staying quiet, which meant he had to have been thinking the same thing about their chances at being together… which were none at all.  Nick wasn’t usually so circumspect, and in this instance Phil was very grateful for it.</p><p>“This contact you have at Waverlyn Castle,” Clint said, ignoring what had just happened, “it’s my mother’s Widow, isn’t it?”</p><p>Phil was nodding along even as Nick answered.  “Yeah.  She went back to keep an eye on that bastard.”</p><p>Now Clint was frowning.  “But why didn’t she just take care of it the moment she was able to get into the court?”</p><p>By ‘taking care of it’ Phil was certain Clint meant, ‘assassinating the asshole who’d murdered so many people, including my parents’, and he had to admit that the archer had a point.</p><p>Nick rolled his single eye.  “Because if she did that, it would create a power vacuum that there was literally no one else to fill.  It would have made the destabilization of everything that much faster.  You might be the rightful heir, but at the time you were a toddler.  Can you imagine what sort of grab for Regency there would have been?  And there was no way in any of the Havens they would have let a sixteen-turn-old Acolyte and an Aalveyn assassin be those Regents.  You’d have been taken away and indoctrinated into whatever shit whoever did end up in charge of you believed in, and there was no telling what that would have been.  You could have ended up a puppet on the throne, and Waverlyn could be in worse shape than it is now.  At least the usurper was a fairly decent king until he started going batshit crazy.”</p><p>That did make sense.  As a child, Clint – Prince Francis – would have needed a Regent until he was of age to take the throne.  Who knew, at the time, just who would have been put in charge of the heir to the kingdom?  It could have been someone unscrupulous, who would have taught the young Prince to behave and to follow that person’s implicit instructions…a puppet, as Nick had said.  Also, it could have been a person who would have taken care of the heir.  However, Phil could understand why Nick and his ‘accomplice’ would have made the decisions the way they had.</p><p>“Of course,” Nick went on, “I fully intended on fetching you once you were old enough.  I just hadn’t taken into consideration that you’d run away and become a mercenary.  To be honest, it was coming down to making that assassination attempt if things had gone on much longer; we’d actually discussed it.  But, then the Widow got word that you were still alive, along with a name: Clint Barton.  We chose to locate you instead, and she stay at the castle and keep watch.”</p><p>“But I’m assuming that King Charles doesn’t know that this person is a Widow.”  It would have been common knowledge if there was a Widow at court.  That would have lent King Charles a legitimacy that would have been a little hard to overturn. </p><p>“No.  When she decided to go back and be our spy, she set aside her mask and became just another fighter at court.”</p><p>Phil blinked.  That…yes, he’d suspected as much.  But for her to have taken off her mask and renounce being a Widow…it was still a bit of a shock to hear it aloud.</p><p>“What is it?” Clint murmured, drawing Phil’s attention to him and out of his roiling thoughts.</p><p>“From what I understand,” He explained, “when a young woman joins the Red Room, she gives up her very identity in order to put on the mask they all wear.  It’s a badge of honor, one they never remove until their death…and beyond, because no one would ever dream of taking it off, even on burial.  So, for a Widow to remove it of her own accord…”  He trailed off, knowing that Clint would understand why this news was so incredible.</p><p>“She chose me over her own vows.”  The dawning look of amazement on his face had Phil wanting to reach across and take his hand.  It was apparent that he believed anyone doing such a momentous thing on his behalf was nearly incomprehensible to him. </p><p>It made Phil realize that Clint Barton had been on his own for so long, had lived hand to mouth, on the basis of his skills with a bow, and hadn’t really had any of the positive reinforcement that having true parents who’d cared for him would have done.  Oh, he was certain the foster parents that Nick and the Widow had put him with had done their best, but the archer had confessed on the voyage to Zephyr Cay that he hadn’t really felt as if he’d belonged, and had left as soon as he could in order to find that place he was missing, so anything they may have attempted to do had been lost on the young boy.</p><p>He’d found his proper place, but the Aalveyn was absolutely certain it wasn’t what Clint had ever thought it would be.</p><p>Nick stood, stretching a little.  “I’m gonna go.  I need to contact Yelena.  She’ll need to know about Pepper and Stark showing up on the castle doorstep.  At least she can keep an eye on them. Make sure they don’t do anything too stupid and get themselves killed…or worse.”</p><p>Phil wondered just how he was going to do that, but knew better than to ask.  Nick kept his secrets close, and there was no way he was going to give anything away.</p><p>“Is that her name?” Clint asked.  “Yelena?”</p><p>“That’s what she’s calling herself, yeah.  I have no idea if it’s her real name or not, though.”</p><p>“You should ask her about this ritual Obadiah Stane was thinking about.”  Phil knew that would be important; they would have no idea what the King had in mind for his own half-brother, and the Aalveyn doubted it was any good.</p><p>“I plan to, although I’d think if she knew, she’d have told me about it already.”</p><p>True.  Well, at least she could be on the lookout for more information.  “Does she have any idea how King Charles even found out about Clint?”</p><p>The Priest shook his head.  “No idea, but she was looking into it.  If she finds out, she’ll let us know.  I’m going to need some sort of code for her to use so Pepper knows the message is safe, Phil.”</p><p>He thought for a beat.  “Have her say to Pepper, ‘Phil is still covering for you, for cutting all the roses down in Aunt Sasha’s garden’.  She’ll trust your spy then.”</p><p>Nick chuckled.  “I think I want to hear that story.”</p><p>“Maybe someday I’ll tell you,” the Aalveyn answered dryly.  There hadn’t been much to it; Aunt Sasha had found her roses all destroyed, and she’d actually blamed Phil for it, not realizing it was her own daughter who’d done the deed out of spite; Aunt Sasha had refused to let Pepper attend a party with him, not trusting him to look after his younger cousin.  Phil had stayed silent, knowing who had done the deed and figuring Aunt Sasha had deserved it after he’d heard some of the hateful things she’d said.  For some unfathomable reason, Aunt Sasha had disliked him intensely, and Phil had always suspected that she knew about his wings and had been judging him for them.</p><p>“If she can, have your contact let Pepper know to get to Waverly if she needs to,” he continued.  “I have my contact there.  You know who.” His friend knew most of Phil’s contacts by name, and by seal, so he didn’t need to go into any great detail.  “If there’s trouble, they can run there if they need to, and can’t get back to Stark Tower.”</p><p>“Good idea.”  Nick grinned.  “See?  I knew I trusted the right man to set up a network in Waverlyn for me.”</p><p>“Melinda calls me a spymaster.”</p><p>“And that’s pretty appropriate.” With that, Nick strode from the house, grumbling about having to walk back home.  Phil shook his head, knowing he could easily get a horse from the stable nearby if he really wanted a ride back to his house.</p><p>Clint turned to follow, and the Aalveyn felt an instant surge of disappointment.  They still needed to talk, but he wasn’t going to force the man to stay if he didn’t want to.  A part of him could certainly understand why he’d kept this distance, now that he had absolute confirmation that Clint felt the same way Phil himself did, and couldn’t blame him for it.  It was going to be hard enough being on shipboard together for the time it would take to reach Aal’valla.  Being together now…Deities, it was just getting harder and harder to part, and Phil hadn’t even seen him in three tens! </p><p>The Flutterbye – Hawkeye – twisted around on Clint’s shoulder, their version of singing speech echoing out over the empty space.</p><p>
  <em>Darkness cannot exist without Light.</em>
</p><p>It was the same thing Clint had said.  It was a basic truth of the Deities, that one could not exist without its opposite.  Damaging Darkness had caused Light to grow stronger, and Phil suspected it was why he was as powerful as he was…that Light had simply over-blessed him.  Still, he had a purpose, and that was to help put that balance right, and he would do whatever it took to accomplish that.</p><p>Clint didn’t turn, although he waved over his shoulder as he, too, left the house.  Lucky, though, leaned against Phil’s leg and licked his hand, whining a little as if he could sense Phil’s own upset at the archer’s leaving without a word. </p><p>Then the dog was gone, following his companion, and leaving the house feeling suddenly quite empty.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Chapter 31</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Jasper Sitwell’s parents had always claimed that he was some sort of hybrid of Good and Order, even after it had been proved that he was firmly in the Good category.</p><p>It was because he enjoyed things being Orderly.  Everything in its place.  When he’d been a child, his room had always been the tidiest in the house, and he hated Chaos with a passion.  One day, he’d gone and rearranged his mother’s kitchen cabinets without telling her…but then, he really hadn’t had to say anything, because the moment Mother hadn’t been able to find anything where she’d put it she’d known it was him.  Jasper had argued in that certain way only little children had that his arrangement was much more logical, and he’d been made to put everything back the way he’d found it.</p><p>Needless to say, it had been a surprise when he’d shown to be of Good and not Order.  Later on, Jasper had learned there had been money that changed hands over his Determination.</p><p>Oh, he didn’t have any of the gifts that knowers and empaths and their like had.  No, Jasper had come down into the position of scribe, taking care of the books from his grandfather’s business pretty much since the age of eleven, falling in love with an orderly line of figures that, if correct, added up to its inevitable conclusion.  He’d studied maths in school, taking honors in many of his classes, and his parents had thought he would become either a teacher himself, or go into a more prestigious line of work that wasn’t accounting, than where he’d actually found himself. </p><p>He’d ended up leaving home as soon as he was out of school, taking a job as a private secretary to a minor noble in Brittanium.</p><p>That hadn’t lasted long.  Mainly because the man had been a chaotic mess, and there wasn’t anything guaranteed to make Jasper Sitwell crazy than an idiot who wouldn’t listen to the one person who knew more about estate accounting than they did.  </p><p>However, leaving home also made him realize that his gift wasn’t just about maths.</p><p>Jasper was a savant when it came to languages.</p><p>Within the first year of working away from home, he’d managed to absorb three different languages, including the language of pure mathematics. </p><p>It had led him to a job within the Harbormaster’s office at Triskelia Harbor, working as a junior master and seeing first-hand the sort of graft that could hide in such a busy place.</p><p>Honestly, why by the Havens would anyone hire someone of Good to work within such an environment?  It was like the Harbormaster felt like playing with Fire without considering the notion of it burning him.</p><p>Jasper had been about to pack it in, in sheer contempt because no one outside the Port Authority was listening to him complain about the situation, when he’d met Captain Phillipjaraynan’coulson.</p><p><em>Lola’s Dream </em>had come into port, and Jasper had been the lucky one assigned to collecting the docking fees that all ships had to pay when they put in.  He’d been welcomed onboard and, when he’d only charged the going rate for a port like Triskelia, the Aalveyn Captain had taken one look at him, then shook his hand, saying it was a pleasure to deal with an honest man for once, and what the Havens was he doing in a place like Triskelia anyway, one of the most crooked ports in all of Marvala?</p><p>Jasper had answered that it had seemed like a good idea at the time, which it had.  He just hadn’t known exactly what he’d been getting himself into.</p><p>Phil had laughed.  Not that Jasper had blamed him, because it <em>was</em> pretty hilarious.</p><p>After that, they’d hit it off.</p><p>That had been why Jasper had confided in Phil, one night over some very good Waverlyn brandy, that he’d been thinking of quitting due to all the graft.  He’d complained that it hadn’t done him any good to report it, because the people he’d have done the reporting to were just as crooked as everyone else.  And, in fact, thought he was just as corrupt as they were.</p><p>Jasper could still vividly recall the expression in Phil’s eyes, the calculation and the consideration, when the Aalveyn had asked him to wait, because there might be something better coming his way if he would be patient. </p><p>He hadn’t really wanted to.  But Phil had been persuasive, which was why, a four-ten later, he’d been a just little surprised by the job offer on Zephyr Cay, as their Harbormaster.</p><p>Of course, Jasper had accepted at once.  He would have taken a job in the coldest region of the world if it meant getting away from all the lying and cheating going on around him. He’d taken a great deal of pleasure in putting in his notice and jumping the first ship heading out to the Cay, where he’d found a small yet tidy office waiting for him and autonomy to run things the way he’d wanted.</p><p>It had felt like coming into a second home.</p><p>Oh, he wasn’t immediately trusted.  Jasper hadn’t minded, because he’d come from Triskelia and that wretched hive of scum and villainy.  He might have been Good, but that didn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t graft like the best of them. </p><p>Which, he could, when it came to writing up reports.  Because, within the first tenday on the job, Jasper had begun to <em>notice</em> things.</p><p>At first, he’d thought he’d walked right into another Triskelia situation, despite Phil’s comments about Jasper being an honest man and how refreshing that was.  No, something was up on Zephyr Cay, and Jasper decided to keep his eyes open and gather more information before making any sort of decision.</p><p>For example, the <em>Avenger.</em></p><p>One of the things Jasper had learned working for Port Authority for Triskelia were the patrol schedules for the twelve warships of the official Shield Island fleet.  And there should have been no way that the <em>Avenger </em>could have been in Cayside the times that she was.</p><p>At first, Jasper had assumed the ship’s captain had been there to visit with Phil; judging by the greeting they gave each other, he’d at first assumed they were either family or lovers, and the lovers assumption had been almost immediately dropped upon noticing that the <em>Avenger’</em>s captain was very obviously in a relationship with <em>both</em> the <em>Avenger’</em>s first and second mates.  He’d determined that Captain Peggy was a very lucky woman, and fell back onto the first scenario that he’d come up with. </p><p>Because Jasper considered himself a friend of Phil’s – and it was obvious the Aalveyn felt the same way about Jasper – he’d found himself fudging his first report by completely disregarding the fact that one of the Island’s warships was even in port.</p><p>Little had he known at the time, but that first report had gained him the respect of Zephyr Cay’s mayor, Maria Hill, who’d then gone to Nick Fury to inform on Jasper over his falsification of reports, which would have gotten him fired in any other port on Marvala…well, except for Triskelia, but for entirely different reasons.</p><p>It had gotten him a meeting with the true power on the island…Nick Fury, Priest of Darkness. </p><p>The rest, as anyone would have said, was history.</p><p>Jasper kept faking reports in either greater or lesser forms of floridity, and no one seemed to be the wiser.  And Jasper had gained a whole bunch of borderline reprobate friends who seemed to enjoy spying on the other countries in the world.</p><p>Jasper had been elbow-deep in export figures when a very familiar voice bellowed out his name from outside.  Sighing, he put his stylus down and got up from his chair, knowing that his visitor wouldn’t be coming into the office.</p><p>Well, it was more like he <em>couldn’t</em> come into the office, simply because he wouldn’t fit.</p><p>Jasper had known Phil for many turns now, and the Aalveyn having adopted a pair of Dragon children <em>wasn’t</em> the most surprising thing he’d come to discover about his friend.</p><p>It wasn’t just Pietro squatting outside on the wooden dockside…his sister was there was well, and Jasper could hear her chastising him in the Dragon tongue about keeping to an inside tone of voice.</p><p>Dragon was one of the many languages Jasper now knew, even if he didn’t have the correct vocal cords to speak it.  He snorted.  “You know that won’t work, Wanda.”</p><p>She turned her large head to smile at him, showing most of her dangerously sharp teeth.  “Well,” she commented, “Phil isn’t here to do it.  I’m just doing what he’d do.”</p><p>Wanda had put an extra rumble before Phil’s name, and anyone else would have just interpreted it as an odd little noise.  Not Jasper: to him, he heard her using the Draconic word for ‘Soul Father’, and they both had done it for as long as Jasper had known them.  In fact, it was the very first words in their language that he’d been able to understand.  He’d asked for an explanation for the term, and Wanda had been only glad to give it to him.  It had had Jasper internally turning to mush. </p><p>Of course, he’d never show that sort of thing to anyone else.  He had a reputation to maintain, after all.</p><p>Pietro rolled his eyes at her.  “Jasper doesn’t mind.  Do you, Jasper?”</p><p>Jasper declined to answer, because there wasn’t a right one he could use.  He did say, “And what brings the two of you to my door?”</p><p>“The plan is being moved forward.”  Wanda said it, because she could pitch her voice low enough that no one would overhear her.  “We need to find the <em>Avenger</em> and have her come back to port.”</p><p>A shiver ran down his spine, even as his heartbeat went up.  Jasper had known it was happening sooner rather than later, but he’d understood that Phil and Barton wouldn’t be leaving for Aal’valla until later, after the <em>Avenger </em>finished her current tour since they hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to the warship that leaving their assigned patrol area might.  There had been something about waiting to hear back about that Asgardian Prince, as well, but he knew Phil wasn’t counting on that.  “What happened?” he asked, even as he was turning to go back inside to fetch the patrol roster.</p><p>Wanda stuck her head in through the door.  “Phil had a visitor.”  She went on to explain about the appearance of Ana Jarvis, Lord Tony Stark’s housekeeper, and the news about Pepper. </p><p>Jasper sighed, pulling the report out of the cabinet where he kept such things.  Leave it to Phil’s cousin to put her foot right into it, even if she was trying to do the right thing.  He had to wonder if the Coulson Clan had a specific gift that had them getting into all sorts of trouble. </p><p>He glanced at the report.  “The <em>Avenger </em>should be in the vicinity of Knowhere right now.”  Knowhere was an infamous pirate hangout, not that there were actually any pirates there.  It was a speck of nothing south of Zephyr Cay, and while it seemed to be a likely place for pirates to hang out, anyone who lived in this section of the archipelago understood that Knowhere wasn’t where a ship needed to be if they wanted to hunt actual pirates.  In fact, most of the pirates were usually to be found right under Governor Pierce’s nose, in the smaller islands east and west of the main island.  Peggy often complained about what a waste of time it was to even go pirate hunting. </p><p>Havens, some of the pirates were even friends and/or family of people living on the Cay, and could sometimes be seen coming and going from whatever concealed place they kept their ships at anchor when they visited.  He wouldn’t have been surprised if some of them weren’t involved in Nick’s plotting, although chances were they wouldn’t know more than what Nick had been willing to tell.</p><p>Well, Jasper understood exactly what that plot was now, even though he’d been involved for ages.  He’d known it was to hopefully stop the spiraling out of control of the countries of Marvala, and the fragmentation of the various governments out there, but Nick had kept the existence of an actual heir to Waverlyn close to his chest. </p><p>Jasper couldn’t blame him.  Having that sort of knowledge get out would have been like painting a target on Clint Barton’s back.  Not that he didn’t have that sort of target on him now.</p><p>“Thank you, Jasper,” Wanda said politely, speaking in Draconic. </p><p>“Safe flying,” he returned, not in Draconic.</p><p>Wanda slowly backed her head out of the door, and Jasper followed, watching as the twins flew off.  They’d be at the <em>Avenger </em>in about a day, and the ship should be back to the Cay in less than three.  He didn’t envy Phil going back home; he didn’t know all the details, but Jasper was pretty sure his leaving had been bad.  Phil was the least Aalveyn of any Aalveyn Jasper had had the pleasure to meet.  For one thing, he was nice, and non-prejudiced against other races, and adopted the strangest kids ever.  Jasper honestly loved him like a brother.</p><p>Sighing, he went back inside, needing to get to work on those reports before they multiplied because he’d left them to their own ends.  He would also need to come up with some paperwork to explain why the <em>Avenger </em>wasn’t on its patrol route but, since they were ostensibly looking for pirates…that excuse would work as well as any.  He would get with Nick to talk about the cover story.</p><p>He’d just sat down and picked up his stylus once more, when there was a soft knock at the door.</p><p>Jasper glanced up, surprised to see Clint Barton standing in the doorway, his dog with him…and was that a Flutterbye on his shoulder?  What the Havens…?  Where had <em>that</em> come from?</p><p>Honestly, the first time Jasper had met the man he’d seemed less likely a prospective King than Jasper’s left foot.  He hadn’t been at all sure Barton had the strength to take a throne.  But now…</p><p>The man standing in the doorway was completely different, and it had only been three tendays.  He was dressed all in black, except for some purple on his tunic, with his bow and arrow at his back.  His pale eyes were serious, and he stood straight, his bearing totally different from the uncertain man that had been in Nick’s study not all that long ago. </p><p>“Your Highness,” Jasper couldn’t help himself, rising from his chair.</p><p>Barton flinched a little, waving his hand in negative.  “It’s just Clint.  I’m still getting used to all that, and it just feels weird when people I hope will be friends call me that shit.”</p><p>Jasper smiled, sitting down once more.  He beckoned the man into his small office.  “What can I do for you?”  He didn’t mention the Flutterbye, because his mind was still boggling a little at its presence.</p><p>Barton – Clint – took the invitation, closing the door behind him.  “Phil told me you have a gift for languages.”</p><p>“I do.”  He wondered why that particular fact had come up in conversation. Not that he hid that sort of thing from anyone. “How can I help?”</p><p>“I need a translator, and I’m hoping you can help.”  With that, he reached up and held out a hand to the Flutterbye who, with a rather indignant-seeming chirp that sounded like a snatch of some incomprehensible song, flew off the prince’s shoulder to land on Jasper’s desk, delicately balancing on an open journal. </p><p>Jasper’s eyes crawled up to his shaved hairline.  “You want me to…?” he confirmed.</p><p>“If you can.  Phil managed to understand a little; he said it’s almost like the song he uses to summon the maelstrom.”</p><p>That was interesting.  Jasper had been able to translate some of the songs that made Phil’s Maelstrom Harp work, and he was pretty certain the words were part of the primordial language of the Twelve.  He didn’t have a lot of experience beyond that, but he was willing to try.</p><p>He stared down at the Flutterbye.  While he’d never really seen one before, Jasper had heard the stories, so the creature looking up at him in return was recognizable.  It was perhaps as tall a handspan, with pale green skin, purple hair and eyes.  Antenna arched up from its eyes and over its forehead, and it was regarding Jasper with interest. </p><p>It then began to sing.</p><p>Jasper’s gift didn’t immediately work.  He had to listen, and wait for the magic to kick in.  It certainly helped that he did recognize some of what he was hearing; Phil had been correct about it being like the songs he used to whip up a maelstrom.  Jasper had only seen him do it once, and once was certainly enough.  It had been amazing and scary and beyond anything Jasper had ever seen in his life.  And he was glad it wasn’t anyone else with sort of power, because Phil was about the only one he felt he could trust not to misuse it.</p><p>It took a few ticks, but more and more words began to translate themselves.</p><p>And what the Flutterbye was saying had Jasper sitting up and paying attention. </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Chapter 32</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Pepper slumped down onto the hard bed she’d been assigned at Waverlyn Castle, rubbing her eyes tiredly as she tried to relax on the scratchy blankets.</p><p>The quarters she’d been given were tiny, without anything even close to the amenities she’d become used to.  As Lord Tony Stark’s Chatelaine, she was seen as nothing more than a slightly higher ranked servant, and had been assigned a chamber that reflected that.  The bed was a single, the coverings not at all soft, and the only other piece of furniture was the rather beaten-up looking wardrobe that was barely large enough to hold the clothes she’d brought with her.  There wasn’t even a privy attached; that was down the hall, and was shared by everyone in this section of the servants’ wing.  Pepper had to admit that she’d been spoiled by the respect that Tony had shown her, by giving her a nice chamber in the residential floor of Stark Tower, but then he also understood just what she did to facilitate the running of the household, and was grateful to her for it.</p><p>Tony had protested vociferously when she’d been told where she’d be staying, but Pepper had already figured out that it might happen, so she wasn’t surprised.  Rhodey, as Tony’s ‘bodyguard’, had been given a room in the barracks, and the Aalveyn was willing to bet it was better furnished than what she’d been stuck with.</p><p>They’d been at the castle for two days, and already the sheer weight of Evil that had soaked into the very stonework of the walls was wearing her down.  It was like a miasma, pressing into her very soul, and Pepper had never felt anything so heavy and draining before in her life.  Anymore, she walked around with a perpetual headache, and it was interfering with her gifts so much she hadn’t been able to overhear a lot so far.  </p><p>What made that worse was she wasn’t around a lot of the lords and ladies of the court.  She hadn’t been allowed to mingle with anyone other than the other servants, and it meant that her plan was a failure before she could even put it into practice.  The castle workers knew absolutely nothing about what the King had planned, although there were so many rumors flying about that it was impossible to tell what was fact and what was fiction.  It was disheartening, really.  She’d had such hopes of being able to eavesdrop on the thoughts of the people closest to King Charles, and that hadn’t worked out at all.  Pepper was beginning to believe this had been a waste of time, that they wouldn’t be able to find out anything about the missing Prince. </p><p>The one thing that <em>had</em> worked was a small plan she and Tony had discussed on the trip, that they would give the impression to all and sundry that they were, in fact, lovers.  That way they could pretend to sneak into each other’s rooms and report back anything they might have discovered.  Of course, Tony hadn’t counted on her being practically sequestered away in another section of the castle, but Pepper had proven to be pretty adept at completely failing at sneaking while pretending she actually thought she was good at it.  In the two nights she’d managed to be seen by at least half a dozen guards and others who were equally bad at sneaking around.  In fact, she’d just gotten back from Tony’s rather gaudy rooms, having reported once again that she hadn’t gotten close enough to discern any thoughts above those she was getting as low-level noise at the back of her skull… when those weren’t being drowned out by all the free-floating Evil in the atmosphere.</p><p>What was worse, was that her connection to Brukk was also being disrupted by all the interference.  She wouldn’t be able to contact him when it was time.  It was making her angry, Pepper could admit.  She usually had a bit more control than this, even if her gifts weren’t as powerful as some.</p><p>And yet, it wasn’t really her fault, although she’d seriously underestimated the control Evil had over the castle.  Yes, she’d been aware that King Charles followed Evil, but she hadn’t considered that it was going to be this bad, the man’s very presence within the castle affecting everything within the place.  She <em>should</em> have; Evil was on an upswing, and it was affecting Pepper’s own Deity somewhat, and that should have told her something even before she’d set a single foot within this cursed place.</p><p>Sighing, Pepper leaned over to blow out the candle that she’d set on the floor – she didn’t have a table to put it on within reach of the bed – when noise outside in the corridor had her pausing.  Someone was at her door, and for a moment she thought it must have been Tony, although she’d just left him. </p><p>But the mind outside the door was strange to her, and she couldn’t get past vague surface thoughts in order to get a better read, not with her head in the condition it was in.  Pepper <em>could</em> tell it was a woman, and there wasn’t any sort of sexual desire in it, which meant it wasn’t someone attempting to take advantage of someone below their station, which she’d learned could have been a very distinct probability.    </p><p>In fact, the level of emotion in this person was practically nil.  It was as if they were holding themselves so tightly that nothing was escaping.  That was fairly impressive, Pepper had to admit, even as her fear was rising.  Could someone have discovered why she and Tony were there?  Had either of them let it slip?  She knew for a fact that there were no other followers of Good in the castle; she would have been able to sense them if there had been any who could have withstood the atmosphere of Evil that permeated every single stone.</p><p>The doorknob turned, and the woman made her way into the room.  She was Aalveyn, pale-skinned and blonde, her blue eyes looking over her surroundings before settling on Pepper, that near-emotionlessness giving way to watchfulness and caution.  She was dressed all in black, from the high-collared tunic she wore, to the low-heeled boots, and there were at least three knives visible to Pepper’s sight, which meant there were most likely more where she <em>couldn’t</em> see them.  She gave the impression that she could very easily take care of herself in any sort of fight, which made her believe this woman was either of Fire…or of Death.</p><p>Then her visitor smiled, and it was a kind smile, one that had Pepper’s nerves easing a little at the unexpected intrusion.  “Virgianalanyan’coulson,” the woman said, closing the door behind her and locking it, “you may call me Yelena.”</p><p>Pepper didn’t know what surprised her more: the fact that this person knew her full name, or that she didn’t give one in return.  “Then you should call me Pepper.”</p><p>Yelena gave a gracious nod, moving toward the bed where Pepper was seated, her motions as graceful as a cat’s.  Yes, this one was a fighter of some sort, a deadly one, and yet for some reason Pepper didn’t feel all that threatened, not after calling her by the name she usually didn’t give out. </p><p>“I’ve been sent to speak to you,” Yelena said as she sat on the edge of the bed, within touching distance yet she kept her hands to herself. </p><p>Suspicion – despite the urge to trust this woman – made Pepper’s eyes narrow.  “Oh?”</p><p>Yelena smiled again, this time looking pleased, as if she was glad that Pepper wasn’t so easily accepting.  “I was told to tell you that Phil is still covering for you, for cutting down all the roses in Aunt Sasha’s garden.”</p><p>Every little bit of uncertainty left her at those words.  It meant that this woman knew Phil, had been sent by her cousin, and could be trusted. </p><p>Pepper could still vividly recall that day, when she’d been so very angry with her own mother that she’d destroyed her favorite rose garden.  It had been a shock when she’d blamed Phil for it, but then Mother had always held something against her brother’s son.  It hadn’t been until much later, when Pepper had had turns to look back on it, that Mother must have known about Phil’s wings, which would have made him a half-blood to a great many Aalveyn eyes.  Well, the older generations at least; the younger ones who knew had absolutely no problem with it, and saw them for what they were: a blessing, one that Phil should have been proud to have been given, but had been taught to be ashamed of.</p><p>Still, Phil had accepted the blame, when Mother had accused him, when it had been obvious that it had been Pepper herself responsible for the destruction.  Pepper had even asked him why he’d done it, when they’d finally been able to speak after her cousin’s punishment, and Phil had simply shrugged and claimed that it was easy to take if it meant Pepper hadn’t borne the brunt of his Aunt Sasha’s displeasure.  If Pepper hadn’t already loved him, that single action would have tipped her right over the edge into adoration.</p><p>And, it was because of those actions when she’d been a child, and for other reasons, that had had Pepper following Phil’s example and leaving Aal’valla as soon as she could.</p><p>“Phil sent you?” she asked eagerly.  It also meant that Ana had made it to her cousin, and had gotten him the message.  That Ana was alive and well and safe. </p><p>“Alas, no,” Yelena admitted.  “However, I am a friend of a friend, and was told to say that to you in order for you to trust me.”</p><p>“It certainly worked!”</p><p>“Excellent.”  Yelena’s smile faded.  “I have come to tell you that your errand no longer needs to be finished.”</p><p>“Wait.  What?” Pepper kept her voice down, not wanting anyone to inadvertently overhear their discussion.  While the rest of the servants would have been asleep, since long hours were kept there in the castle, she couldn’t risk a guard or anyone else passing by.  Also, the walls weren’t exactly as thick as she would have liked.  She’d learned that her next door neighbor had quite the sex life that first night she’d been in the castle.</p><p>“Pepper,” Yelena rested a hand on her knee, “you do not need to save Prince Francis, because he has already been saved.”</p><p>The Chatelaine had a hand on her mouth in relief.  Then something occurred to her.  “And Phil knows where he is?”</p><p>“He does indeed.  In fact, your cousin is in the thick of it.”</p><p>“Of course he is,” Pepper chuckled. That was so Phil, getting involved.  But then, she’d fully intended on involving him herself, so there was that.  “And you’re here?  How are you involved?”</p><p>“I have been involved for many turns.  Before Charles somehow found out, there were only two in the entire world who knew about the Prince’s survival: myself, and one other.  Your cousin is the friend of that other, which is how he’s mixed up in all this.”</p><p>It didn’t take Pepper long to put two and two together and come up with Nick Fury, Phil’s oldest Human friend.  She didn’t say the name aloud, but she had the impression that Yelena knew she’d figured it out.</p><p>“It would be best if you and your employer and his friend left as soon as you can,” Yelena said.  “If you stay, you would be in grave danger.”</p><p>“But there must be something we can do to help,” Pepper protested.  She understood that they’d been pretty ineffective so far, but there was still that part of her that wanted to do everything she could in order to aid the prince’s cause.</p><p>“At this time, no.  All you can do is get caught.”  She held up a hand to forestall any other protests.  “There is a plan in place, one that could be put at risk.  Please…do as we ask.  This is far too important.”</p><p>Pepper sighed, considering what the other Aalveyn woman was telling her.  If there truly was a plan, and she and Tony and Rhodey could accidentally disrupt that plan by being in Waverlyn Castle…Yelena might have been sent by Phil and his friend, but there was still a part of her that was wondering if this was just a way to get them all out of danger…</p><p>“I understand your thoughts,” Yelena murmured.  “But I believe I can convince you.” </p><p>With that, she began unbuttoning her tunic.  Pepper’s eyes widened in surprise, but when she didn’t get a sense of sexual intention she relaxed and waited for the other woman’s next move.</p><p>Turning her back toward Pepper, Yelena slid her tunic down her shoulders, revealing a smooth expanse of back.  There was a scar just under the woman’s shoulder, which looked like a healed knife wound, and below that…</p><p>The tattoo stood out against the white skin, a simple hourglass shape, black limned in red.  It was small, not even the length of a finger, and yet its presence on Yelena’s skin was as momentous as a groundquake.</p><p>Pepper gasped.</p><p>This woman was a Widow.</p><p>But how was that possible?</p><p>“I was Queen Edith’s Widow,” Yelena explained, pulling her tunic back up and fastening it closed once more.  “It was I and her Acolyte who took Prince Francis to safety.  I came back here, to keep an eye on Charles, to sit in wait for the time when the Prince could be returned to his rightful throne.”</p><p>“You voluntarily gave up your mask.” From what Pepper knew, it was unheard of for a Widow to do that.  Once they gained their mask, a Widow <em>never</em> removed it in front of another living soul.  It was considered to be breaking every single vow a Widow had ever taken and disrespecting the Deity that they served.</p><p>For her to have done that…</p><p>Pepper put aside her stubbornness.  If Yelena could do what she did, then Pepper could listen and do what she was told.</p><p>“I need to talk to Tony,” she said.  “We can head back to the Tower as soon as we can do it without drawing suspicion.”</p><p>“I was also given the name of a contact in Waverly in case they’re needed, and Phil thought you might want to have the name.  There is always a chance that you won’t be able to get back to Stark Tower, and you’re going to need a safe place to run if that does happen.  Things are afoot, Pepper…things I have been unable to discover, despite the fact that King Charles trusts me…in his own way.  He’s becoming increasingly unbalanced ever since his wife and son died.  There’s no telling what he might do if you and your party decide to suddenly up and leave without good reason.  He might already be suspicious of you all, and the fact that you have all been separated could be indicative of that mistrust.”</p><p>That was something she hadn’t considered when she and Rhodey had been given quarters in different areas of the castle. </p><p>Damnit.</p><p>Pepper bit her lip, her mind working.  “Give me the name.  I’ll talk to Tony and Rhodey, and see what we come up with.” They would also make up an excuse to leave the castle for a time, in order to meet up with Brukk.   He was hiding in the mountains close by, even though he’d seemed a little uncomfortable with the notion of it, and they could give him the information as well.</p><p>“Very well.”  She said the name, and how to contact her.  Pepper memorized it, repeating it back to show that she had it correct. </p><p>Once that was done, Yelena rose, a tiny smile on her face.  “What you and your friends wanted to do was very brave, but I think you know it was doomed for failure.  I understand the need to do something, it’s why I gave up my mask and chose to become an outcast to the Red Room, who took me in and trained me in the ways of the assassin.  And yet, as positioned as I am here at court, I still cannot discover what we need to know.”  She crossed her arms.  “Pepper, you discovered this secret by accident.  Because Obadiah Stane couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself, and had taken your gifts for granted.  If King Charles found that out, Stane would be dead, and it would be a very long, very drawn-out death.  Because there’s one more thing you need to know…the King made a deal with Evil, and has become what I suspect is a Plaguelord… and his very touch can poison anyone he wishes.  I’ve seen him do it to those who displease him.”</p><p>Pepper shivered.  A Plaguelord.  Why would anyone ever do that?  She hadn’t heard of Evil doing anything like that, in all the turns she’d been alive.  She hadn’t thought it was possible, but then Evil’s influence had been growing stronger.  If the Deity had brought a Plaguelord into being…</p><p>This was so much worse than anyone knew.</p><p>“I’ll talk to Tony,” she promised.</p><p>Yelena nodded.  “Please be careful.”</p><p>It really hit home just how dangerous a game Yelena was playing.  If anyone discovered she’d once been a Widow, and one that had been the former Queen’s personal bodyguard…Pepper didn’t think much of her chances.  Fear swamped her; fear for this brave woman who was doing everything she could to set the scene for the rightful King’s return. </p><p>Pepper got up, needing to speak to Tony now.  They needed to get their stories straight, and to figure out what they were going to do.  </p><p>Before she could even think about it, she was hugging Yelena.  The woman stiffened for a moment, and then returned the embrace.  Yelena was considerably shorter than Pepper herself was, but she could tell the assassin was as deadly as they came.</p><p>“Take care,” she murmured.  “May Death look upon you kindly.”</p><p>Yelena pulled away.  “And may Good guide your thoughts.”</p><p>With that, the former Widow was out the door.</p><p>A few ticks later, Pepper followed, taking the familiar route up to Tony’s chambers, this time careful as to who actually saw her in the corridors, not wanting to broadcast her being there to anyone who might be about. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Chapter 33</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter has gone through so many rewrites, and I'm still not all that happy with it.  But, here it is.  With some familiar characters making their first appearance.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The tavern wasn’t in the best part of town, but it had the advantage of being the sort of place where no questions were asked.  At least Jane thought so; she really didn’t have a lot of experience with places like that.  She hadn’t thought she ever would, either, yet there she was.</p><p>When Darcy had claimed to know a way to help Donald, there had been a minor uproar in the observatory.  She’d refused to say anything else before reaching out to someone she wouldn’t name, but Jane hadn’t really been all that surprised that her assistant had a finger on the lifebeat of the country…or at least simply the city of Cambria, where the Academy made its home.  Cambria itself was landbound, and to somehow get Donald away from Brittanium they would need to move him to one of the coastal cities, most likely Londron with its larger port, but Jane was willing to bet that whoever this was Darcy wanted them to meet would have a way to do it.</p><p>She also hadn’t expected it to take so long, and had gradually been getting more and more nervous about Donald’s continued presence within the country.  He’d taken to staying in the Observatory, and luckily for them his continuously being there hadn’t drawn any attention as of yet.  But it was only a matter of time before someone noticed he never left.  Jane supposed it was good that it had lasted for about three tendays as it was.</p><p>Just last night, as she’d tossed and turned and didn’t get to sleep, Jane pondered the notion that it might be the right thing to go with Donald, to wherever he ended up, to leave the Academy and the country for good.  She would miss her work, but maybe she could do it somewhere else?  Just because the Academy of Sciences was the very best in the world, didn’t mean she couldn’t take what she’d learned from studying there and applying it to another university or academy that was out there. </p><p>The University of Waverlyn was an excellent institution, they simply didn’t have the same resources as the Academy did.  But certainly, since the University had Lord Tony Stark’s patronage, something could be arranged?  A grant or something, to build up the Astronomy program, to make it even better than what was at the Academy, which would soon be not accepting of new students or researchers or instructors from other countries.  And the University was in the mountains, which would be the perfect place to build an observatory.</p><p>There was also Triskelia, but Jane simply didn’t know enough about the school there as she did the one in Waverlyn.  Still, it had a good reputation, and it was also an alternative if she decided to remain in academia.</p><p>They’d been two options to consider, and she had yet to talk to Erik about it.  The problem she saw with convincing him was the fact that he’d been in Brittanium for nearly twenty turns, and the country had become his home.  Still, it might very well come down to him leaving, if Parliament decided to lock the entire country down and remove all the resident aliens who’d made the country their permanent residences.  It didn’t matter how long someone lived there; if they weren’t a citizen, they would be expelled at some point.</p><p>It was going to get so much uglier before it got better, and perhaps it was time to cut their losses and make a new home for themselves, somewhere they wouldn’t have to worry about getting kicked out of.</p><p>That morning, Jane had gone into the Academy and had attempted to work, but nerves and exhaustion had teamed up to give her a headache.  Donald had gotten her an herbal tea, and that helped, but she’d still been on tenterhooks until Darcy had come in about a mark after Jane had, and announced that she’d finally managed to set up a meeting, so who was going?</p><p>That had caused a rather loud discussion that had had Erik eventually throwing up his hands and telling Jane to do whatever it was she wanted to do, but he was going back to work.</p><p>Before Darcy had arrived, there had been such a charged atmosphere at the Observatory.  Jane could barely focus on the papers she was grading for the advanced class she was required to teach.  Erik actually snapped at her for fidgeting over the student’s works, and then apologized for taking his bad mood out on her.  Jane would open her mouth to speak to Erik about leaving Brittanium themselves, and then close it when no words would come out, not knowing how to approach the subject even after three tendays to think about it.  Erik cursed at some equations that weren’t coming out the way they should, and it had been Donald of all people who’d pointed out the integer that had been transcribed wrong.  Erik had cursed once again, and then had thanked Donald for showing him the mistake.</p><p>Of them all, Donald was the one who still acted pretty much as he usually did, although he was keeping his voice pitched down at a reasonable level; he was usually so boisterous, but it was as if he understood that none of them were at their best and was trying to act as normal as possible.</p><p>Twelve bless him.</p><p>It was eventually decided that Jane and Donald would go with Darcy to this meeting…which was why Erik had been so put out.  Not that he’d really wanted to go, but he’d pointed out his obvious worry that this was going to end badly.  Jane wasn’t sure he was incorrect, but it was something they had to try.  And Darcy was vouching for whoever it was they were going to meet, and had at one point Jane attempted to convince Donald that she’d be fine on her own, that they really couldn’t risk them getting stopped by the Peace Officers and being ask for papers that Donald didn’t have.  Donald had rightly pointed out that this meeting concerned him despite Darcy’s reassurances, and that he wasn’t about to let either of them go somewhere without protection.</p><p>Darcy had protested that Jane wouldn’t be on her own, and that she’d taken Donald down with her stun rod.  Donald had congratulated her, but what if there were more than one if they happened to run into trouble?  Her stun rod was formidable, but how could she possibly defeat an entire gang of miscreants?</p><p>Yes, he’d actually used to term ‘miscreants’.  Jane had been impressed; not many people he knew would have thought of that particular word to describe people who’d have wanted to rob and kill them.</p><p>And so, she, Donald, and Darcy had left just before lunch, heading into the town past the Academy walls.  Most of the places in the area ran a busy trade with the those who worked or attended but, once they got past the obvious businesses tailored toward students, things weren’t quite so clean or nice.  Jane herself hadn’t been much out into these outer areas of Cambria.  But then, she’d never really needed to be.</p><p>She wondered just had bad these areas would deteriorate if the enforced separation from the rest of the world that the Parliament of Brittanium had proclaimed were to continue for long.  The country, like every other place on Marvala, relied on other countries and kingdoms for imports, and it was only going to get worse before it got better.  Jane wasn’t a political student like Darcy was, but she could see it after Darcy had pointed it out to her.</p><p>The hardest part of their trip was the trying to pretend everything was fine every time she noticed a Peace Officer.  Things were getting worse and it was becoming more and more usual to be stopped and asked for their documentation.  If they did that now, Donald would be arrested immediately for not having any.  So she was glad when Darcy indicated that they had arrived at their destination.</p><p>The tavern was called The Serpent, and a stylized snake coiled about the words carved into the wooden sign that hung over the door.  This area of Cambria was poor, and dirty, and there was this smell…Jane didn’t know what it was, but it was pretty bad.  She barely resisted holding her sleeve to her nose in order to cut the odor a little. </p><p>Donald, however, didn’t react.  Neither did Darcy, who was already pulling the dark wood door of the tavern open, the noise of the crowd within reaching Jane’s ears.  Stepping over the threshold, she couldn’t help but notice how gloomy it was inside the taproom, the only light coming from the overhead fixtures with their guttering candles, and the fireplace that was roaring quite enthusiastically on the far end of the room despite the warmth of late summer outside and the stifling atmosphere inside. </p><p>There were round, dark wood tables scattered about the room, and booths lined the walls.  The long bar ran almost the entire length of the taproom’s back wall, the publican behind it a sandy-haired man who was busily arguing with another man seated on one of the stools that lined the bar, their Brittanium accents obvious in their raised, boisterous voices that could be heard even over the rumblings of the rest of the patrons.  As Jane’s eyes got used to the gloom, she heard someone call out for one of the tavern’s workers for more ale; laughing, a young man with long brown hair practically flounced over to the patron, smacking him playfully in the shoulder as he spoke, a grin lighting up his cheerful face.</p><p>Darcy wove her way between the tables, heading toward a booth that was back in the corner by the bar.  Jane could see a woman sitting there; dark-skinned, her head shaved, the tattoos that had been inked into the skin over her skull apparent even in the low lighting.  She was dressed in shades of red, with gold bands snug about her throat and wrists, her long fingered hands curled around a large tankard that she took a long pull from as the three of them approached.</p><p>There was a tall, silver spear leaning against the wall next to the booth, close to hand, as if this woman was expecting trouble and was prepared to fight her way out.</p><p>The woman lifted her stern features as they came up to the booth.  Her dark eyes were calm yet shrewd.  “Darcy,” she greeted, her voice accented.</p><p>“Okoye.”  Darcy was grinning.  “Thanks for meeting us here.”</p><p>Okoye nodded, her eyes taking in Jane and Donald, widening slightly when she saw the tall man standing at Jane’s shoulder.  “I understand this is important.”</p><p>Darcy lost her smile. “It is.”</p><p>Okoye nodded sharply, standing and reaching for her rather impressive spear.  Jane noticed that she was wearing the usual long skirt that women wore as fashion in the country, but as her leg swung out of the booth it was evident that the red material was split all the way up her thigh, and she was wearing flat-heeled boots.  Jane had, the moment she’d seen the spear, pegged the woman as Strife, but this clinched it.  She was a warrior, born and bred, and as she strode out of the tavern her movements were fluid even as she placed the butt of the spear on the ground with every other step. </p><p>Okoye was tall.  The spear was taller.</p><p>Once they were outside, the warrior turned them back toward the better section of the city, navigating through the pedestrians easily, forcing the three of them to keep up.  Jane tugged on Darcy’s sleeve as they moved, hissing, “How in Havens did you meet her?”  This was the sort of person she hadn’t thought Darcy would be acquainted with; to be honest, Jane had been expecting someone not so dangerous. </p><p>“She’s a friend of a friend,” the student answered breezily. </p><p>“She is Wakandan,” Donald commented.  “One of their warrior class and, if I am not mistaken, Dora Milaje.”</p><p>Jane had been wondering where Okoye had come from.  She’d never actually met anyone from Wakanda before, but if they were all like Okoye…oh, she knew they wouldn’t be.  But the warrior was intimidating without even looking at them, obviously expecting them to follow and not get lost.</p><p>Then, for a beat, she wondered how Donald had known what part of the actual warrior class the woman belonged to, but remembered that he wasn’t actually Donald Blake, but rather Thor, the former Prince of Asgard, and he would have most likely seen Wakandan visitors at his father’s court.</p><p>It was getting easier to forget that he was a prince from another country, and not just a worker at the Academy.</p><p>“That’s right,” Darcy answered approvingly.</p><p>“You have some interesting acquaintances, little one,” he chuckled. </p><p>“Yes I do.”  She was laughing. </p><p>Jane was <em>really</em> confused. What sort of friend did Darcy have who also knew a warrior as deadly as this Okoye seemed to be?</p><p>They hadn’t even made it all the way down the narrow street when they were joined by someone else.</p><p>The man was light-skinned, with curling sandy hair and was shorter than Okoye, who nodded in welcome.  His clothes were plain, but clean and well-cared for, nearly invisible patches in places that had worn thin and been repaired with a meticulous hand.  His face was bland and forgettable, and it took Jane nearly a full tick to recognize him as the man who’d been behind the bar at the tavern they’d just left.</p><p>He fell into step with Okoye, seemingly not having any trouble keeping up with her longer strides.  He spoke to her, saying something that Jane couldn’t catch, and the Wakandan woman nodded sharply in answer.</p><p>They traveled up into a better section of Cambria, and Jane found herself looking up at an upper scale boarding house, one that most likely catered to the more well-off student. Okoye didn’t go through the front door; instead, the warrior, accompanied by the tavern worker, took a side trip down an alley that stretched beside the building.  Darcy followed without questioning.</p><p>Jane glanced up at Donald warily, who shrugged.  “The Dora Milaje are honorable warriors,” he assured her.  “And Darcy seems to trust these two.”</p><p>He had a point.</p><p>The alley was fairly clean, with closed rubbish bins sitting against both the wall of the boarding house and of the building next door, which Jane had noticed was an apothecary.  There was a side door just past the bins, and Okoye had it open and was ducking inside as Jane and Donald caught up.  The man followed; Darcy, with a grin back over her shoulder, went with him. </p><p>The door led into a large kitchen area.  There was a woman working on a large roll of dough at one counter, pounding it out and then kneading it back into a roll, then repeating the process, the muscles of her shoulders and arms flexing as she prepared the dough.  A man was pulling something out of an oven, the smell hitting Jane’s nose and making her stomach growl.  She’d been so nervous and upset lately that food hadn’t been on her list of necessities, and her body was yelling at her for it now.</p><p>Okoye led them down the center of the room, between the workspaces, and they went with her in single file, with the strange man at the rear.  The pair of workers didn’t even pay them the slightest attention, as if interlopers came into the kitchen all the time. </p><p>Maybe they did.  At this point, it wouldn’t have surprised Jane in the least.</p><p>The kitchen exited out into a dining area, where two tables were occupied.  None of the people there seemed to notice them, as well, and now Jane was beginning to wonder if someone had cast some sort of spell on them, so that no one would see the group as they went toward wherever it was they were headed to.  Or else people were just so used to strangers amongst them that they no longer even paid attention.</p><p>Past the dining room was a front desk, unoccupied at the present, and a staircase that went up into the levels above this one.  Once again, Jane found herself following the warrior as she took them up first one floor, and then a second, coming out onto the third floor and into a hallway lined with doors.  There was a rather nice grey carpet lining the hall, and the walls were painted a pleasant pale blue, the doors each a darker blue in comparison. </p><p>Okoye led them down toward the left, stopping at a door that was third down from the stairs.  She rapped on the door smartly, then entered without waiting for any sort of answer from within.  Darcy followed quickly; Jane once again glanced at Donald, glad that he’d decided to come with her, because she suddenly felt like she was stepping into the unknown and it was a fairly disturbing sensation. </p><p>She’d been content to trust Darcy up to this point.  After all, she’d known the younger woman for a couple of turns now, and had always shown intelligence and discernment in equal measure.  Darcy had a fearlessness within her that Jane sometimes envied, the <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn always willing to learn and do more than anyone else Jane had ever met. </p><p>Darcy had been the one to inform them of all the changes coming, even if Erik had scoffed.  Jane had believed her, although if she hadn’t understood it; politics wasn’t her forte, and she’d always trusted Darcy to tell it like it was.  Jane had trusted Darcy when she’d claimed there might be a way to get Donald away safely, even though he didn’t have any sort of guest resident paperwork, like the students and instructors who weren’t from Brittanium did.</p><p>And now, she was going to trust Darcy again. </p><p>Honestly, she had no idea why she was so worried, not if Darcy was so nonchalant about entering that room.</p><p>“Everything will be fine,” a calm voice said behind her.</p><p>It was the man from the tavern.  He was wearing a placid smile, although it was obvious he understood her hesitancy.  His accent wasn’t Brittanium; that was confusing, since she could have sworn she’d heard him speaking back in the tavern.</p><p>His smile went a little wider; he must have realized she’d heard and was surprised by this sudden change.  “Everything will be fine, Doctor Foster.”</p><p>And he knew who she was.  Which was more than she knew about him.</p><p>“It will be well, dear Jane,” Donald told her confidently.  “Let us enter and meet our host.”</p><p>He’d been waiting for her.  Jane was suddenly touched by his concern and his patience.  She smiled, touching his arm then, squaring her shoulders, she entered the room.</p><p>It would have been a rather plain flat, if not for the colorful fabrics that were draped and hung all over the place.  There was a bright patchwork quilt on the bed, and the curtains drawn open with the sunlight streaming into the space. </p><p>Light-colored wooden furniture – headboard, table, and desk – contrasted with all the color, and it dazzled Jane’s eyes for a second.  Once her eyes were clear, she couldn’t help but watch as Darcy stepped back from the hug she’d been giving a young woman, most likely Wakandan, her linen blouse off-white yet embroidered with geometric patterns, her hair twisted into the tiniest braids Jane had ever seen and then pulled up onto her head into a pair of topknots, golden threads woven within the braids.  Her skirt was also in bright patterns, her feet currently bare, and she must have been working on something; there were bright metal gears and wires spread out on the desktop next to her, with small, fine tools next to the components, a magnifier clamped to the edge of the desk.</p><p>This youngster looked to be even younger than Darcy. </p><p>The girl was smiling brilliantly.  “It is good to see you again,” she exclaimed.  “It has been…what, at least two four-tens?”</p><p>“Been busy,” Darcy laughed.  “Didn’t you get my letter?”</p><p>“I did.  But a letter was not nearly enough, and the mail service is abominable in this country.”  The girl winked broadly.  “Which is why I have only been back a couple of days.”</p><p>Jane wondered just what was really going on between the two of them, and how they had met.  Had it been because they were both students? </p><p>Darcy turned toward Jane and Donald, beckoning them forward.  “This is Jane Foster,” she introduced, “and the reason I needed to speak to you…Donald Blake.”</p><p>The girl laughed.  “I believe you mean Thor, the exiled Prince of Asgard.”</p><p>Donald smiled, bowing.  “And you are Shuri, Princess of Wakanda.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. Chapter 34</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“Is it true that Captain Phil isn’t going on this latest voyage?” Grant asked, leaning on the rail next to Daisy.  He looked very comfortable in his armor, sword at his side, as if he wasn’t standing on a ship and all that metal wouldn’t send him directly to the bottom of the harbor if he somehow accidentally fell overboard.</p><p>Before she’d gotten to know him, if anyone had told Daisy that she would end up being friends with Grant Ward, she would have laughed in their face.  On paper, their friendship should not have worked; he was intense, quiet, had the personality of a pile of shit with knives sticking out of it, and if a person looked up the definition of the word ‘stoic’, there would have been Grant Ward’s image right next to the word.  The first time Daisy had ever met him was five turns ago, when Captain Carol had come onboard the <em>Dream </em>in order to speak to Phil and he’d been accompanying her, and the only thing that had registered with her was the fact that it looked as if someone had rammed a broom handle up his ass because no one’s spine should be <em>that</em> stiff. </p><p>Still, over the turns, Grant had warmed up a little.  He could still be silent and distant and a jerk – which, Daisy had learned, was more to do with his gifts than anything else – but he was someone Daisy trusted.  And she wasn’t the only one; Grant was also friends with Jemma, Leo, and Trip, and they often spent time together when <em>Lola’s Dream </em>was in port. Grant had even tried to court Daisy, but she’d turned him down as best she could; her heart just wasn’t her own anymore. </p><p>Daisy had the impression that Phil hadn’t quite liked Grant at first, but he’d never once attempted to come in between them, which meant he trusted her – and the others – to make their own decisions.  For which she couldn’t have loved him anymore for, for letting her make her own choices.</p><p>“He has some sort of mission for Priest Fury,” Jemma answered, “and when Priest Fury asks, the captain will always agree.”  She and Trip were sitting together on a coil of rope, while Leo hovered just behind them, not quite settling in one place.</p><p>And what Jemma said, that was true.  Phil and Nick Fury went a far ways back, they were best friends, and Priest Fury had plots within plots and no one knew exactly what he had up his sleeve at any given time.  Personally, the Priest of Darkness made her a little twitchy, but then Daisy wasn’t invited to those sorts of meetings and, to be honest, she hated being left out.  It was the Darkness in her, the Lady of Secrets blessing her with curiosity and the need to <em>know</em>.</p><p>They didn’t even know what their own mission was yet, let alone what Fury had planned for Phil. And that had Daisy feeling <em>very</em> concerned.</p><p>The thing was, knowing that Phil wasn’t going to be taking the ship out this time was just a little unsettling.  <em>Lola’s Dream </em>was <em>his</em> ship, named after his mother and the dream she’d had about her little boy, and it was his <em>home</em>.  This vessel had been Phil’s for hundreds of turns, and it felt like him, steady and solid and friendly.  Phil might have had a house onshore, but that wasn’t where he <em>lived</em>.  He lived on the <em>Dream, </em>and to have her under someone else’s command just felt <em>wrong</em>.</p><p>Oh, Daisy had no issue taking orders from Melinda, and she did it on every voyage they took, but Phil was their captain, their leader…and, if she was perfectly honest with herself, he was as close to a father that a lot of the crew would ever have.</p><p>He’d taken in a half-blood child thief who’d tried to pick his pocket on the streets of the Achanri capitol and then had stowed away on his ship, given her a home and arranged her education, and had even offered her his clan name.  Daisy had refused, not because she wasn’t touched by the gesture; but because she hadn’t felt like she’d earned it, or that he could do that sort of thing anyway.  Maybe someday, but not now.  Daisy was totally loyal to him, would follow him into the Havens and back… she loved him, not in the gross, adult way that she was pretty sure how he felt about Clint – which she was totally going to have a conversation with one or the other of them about it at some point, because the tension between them was so thick Daisy wondered if it could even be cut with a Vibranium knife – but like she could, one day, be his daughter, if that was what he’d want.</p><p>She wasn’t the only one to feel that way about him.  See the others chatting with her now, with the exception of Grant, who’d never sailed with them before and, while respecting Phil, didn’t have the same feelings the rest of them did for their captain.</p><p>Grant was frowning. “But that would leave you without a weatherwitch.”</p><p>Daisy could understand his concern.  Ships that went out without a weatherwitch onboard would be at the mercy of any bad weather that might be stirred up.  “Phil’s arranged to have Lincoln come with us this trip.”</p><p>The worry left Grant’s face at that, and he gave that tiny smile that said he was pleased.  “Lincoln’s a good man.  He’ll do alright by your ship.”</p><p>She had to agree.  Lincoln Campbell was another of Phil’s ‘strays’, one he’d taken on as an unofficial Acolyte and had taught him all he knew about the weather.  Lincoln didn’t usually sail with them, though; he was an uneasy voyager, but was willing to do his teacher a favor this once.  Daisy genuinely liked him, but had had to gently let him down when he’d also tried to court her.  It wasn’t that she didn’t like him; she really did.  But their connections to a certain Aalveyn ship captain made him feel a little like a brother to her.  Lincoln had accepted her refusal with good grace, and it hadn’t done any damage to their friendship.</p><p>“Am I interrupting anything?”</p><p>She turned, grinning.  She hadn’t seen Clint in at least two tendays, and he was looking good. He was wearing a tunic and trousers all in shades of brown, with muted gold threads woven into the tunic.  His ever-present quiver and bow were at his back, and he really needed to put some sleeves in his tunics because…<em>damn</em>.  Those shoulders should be <em>illegal</em>.</p><p>The Hunter was smiling fondly at her, and Daisy couldn’t resist; she stepped forward and hugged him.  “I’ve missed you,” she murmured as his own arms went around her.  She’d gotten to know him during the two tendays they’d sailed together, enough that Daisy had begun to think of him as a part of the family.</p><p>Of course, there was all that sexual tension between him and Phil…</p><p>There was a soft woof at her knee level, and Daisy pulled away so she could greet Lucky.  The dog’s emotions were glowing, he was that happy to see her. </p><p>Daisy knelt and ran her hands over his head, rubbing his ears vigorously.  “And there’s my favorite boy,” she cooed.  Lucky preened under her pleasure at his presence, images and thoughts gleefully sharing with her everything he’d been doing since she’d last seen him.  It was all in a rush, and Daisy had to laugh.  “Slow down,” she pressed her face against his forehead.  “You’re talking too fast!”</p><p>Lucky snuffled into her hair, and she laughed again.  Overhead, she could hear Clint greeting the others, and introducing himself to Grant.  Daisy stood, feeling slightly guilty about not making the introductions herself, but Grant seemed to be handling it as well as he could.  Another amazing thing about them becoming friends was Grant had never been able to acquit himself well with strangers, once again because of those awful gifts of his and how they could react to people he didn’t know. Still, he was improving a little at a time, which Daisy put down to the influence of herself and their other friends, and the confidence he’d been gaining as Captain Carol’s favorite lieutenant.</p><p>There was an odd tension between Grant and Clint, and Daisy just stopped herself from frowning at it.  Grant’s miniscule ability to act normally in polite company seemed to be failing him, and he turned toward Daisy. “I should be heading back,” he said apologetically.  “I’m due on shift in about a mark, and you know how I feel about being late.”  He stepped forward, then stopped abruptly.</p><p>Daisy rolled her eyes and reeled him in for a hug.  “Try not to get into trouble while we’re gone.”</p><p>Grant didn’t remain in the hug for long; he wasn’t one for that sort of public display of affection.  “How can I?  You’re taking all the trouble with you.”</p><p>Daisy smacked him in the arm for that remark, which didn’t do a lot through his armor, although he did have a certain point.  And he’d come a long way if he was fine with teasing her.  She was pretty damned proud of him.</p><p>Trip snorted.  “You’re not wrong.” He clapped Grant on the shoulder.  “Take care, man.”</p><p>Grant nodded and then left the ship, though not after Jemma had hugged him herself and Leo had waved a little awkwardly.  Honestly, Daisy had managed to drag in two of the most socially inept people on Marvala with Grant Ward and Leo Fitz.</p><p>Clint’s eyes tracked Grant as he made his way down the gangplank, a small furrow between his eyes.  “Who is he?” he demanded, and something in those pale eyes flashed, like a beacon in the darkness.</p><p>“Grant Ward,” Daisy answered him, a little confused by the man’s apparently fascination.  “He’s one of Captain Carol’s lieutenants with the militia.  And he’s a friend, which is the most important part of that answer.”</p><p>Clint turned back to regard her.  “You know he’s Evil, right?”  His expression was downright disapproving.</p><p>It was his turn to get Daisy’s eyeroll.  “Yes, we know.  It was one of the first things he told us when we became friends.” But how had Clint known?  Was it one of his gifts, to see another person’s alignment?  That certainly seemed like something the Deity would grant and would answer a lot of questions she had about how he’d reacted to various members of the crew.</p><p>“Not all Evil people are bad,” Trip pointed out mildly.</p><p>“Just because Grant can be a bit of a dick,” Leo began.</p><p>“Doesn’t mean he can’t be a friend,” Jemma finished. </p><p>“And Captain Carol trusts him with her kid,” Daisy pointed out.  Which was an understatement, because Monica adored Grant and both Carol and her wife, Maria Rambeau, would sometimes trick Grant into babysitting.  And, when Monica wanted something, she always called him Uncle Grant to get him to do anything she wanted, the little girl having him twisted that tightly around her little finger.  It was quite hilarious, because Grant was actually good with children even though he didn’t <em>believe</em> he was.</p><p>If anything, Clint’s face went darker.  “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to trust anyone affiliated with Evil right now.”</p><p>Daisy blinked.  She never would have considered Clint as prejudiced; if anything, completely the opposite.  “Look, I don’t think it’s any of your business who our friends are.”  She stepped right up to him, poking him in the chest with her finger.  “I am disappointed in you, Clint Barton.  How dare you judge by a person’s Deity?  I thought better of you.”  She couldn’t even communicate the displeasure she was feeling.  In the times they’d talked, Clint had never once shown any form of prejudice.  It had been one of the things she’d appreciated in him, and to see that now…</p><p>The Hunter didn’t even look apologetic for it.  “You don’t know the whole story, Daisy –”</p><p>“But she will.”</p><p>Daisy looked around Clint to see Phil walking toward them.  He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept well last night, and now she wished she’d gone to the house instead of staying on the <em>Dream </em>because she could have been there if he’d needed her.  His eyes were positively haunted, and before she even realized she was doing it, she was throwing herself at him, wanting to let him know everything was alright. </p><p>His arms went around her, and he was warm and familiar and safe.  She was going to be away from him for the Deities knew how long, and that made her chest hurt.  “Can I go with you?” she whispered, feeling ashamed of herself the moment the words were out of her mouth.  She was an adult, not a needy little child, and there she was, asking to accompany him like she couldn’t handle her own life on her own. </p><p>Phil sighed, pulling back.  His smile was slightly sad.  “You can’t, Daisy.  And you’ll know why when I address the crew.  You all need to know what you’re getting into, and I’m here to share that with you before you leave.”</p><p>He wasn’t judging her in her moment of weakness.  Which was just so much like Phil, he’d never hold that sort of thing against her, for which Daisy was pitifully grateful for. </p><p>So, she nodded in agreement, stepping out of his embrace, moving back so that she was standing next to Jemma, who grabbed her by the hand in support.  She gave her friend a thankful smile, because Jemma and the others wouldn’t judge her, either. </p><p>Daisy noticed Lincoln hovering behind Phil, so she gave him a wave.  Lincoln relaxed a little, and she felt a little sorry for him for walking into the confrontation like that.  She was glad that he was coming along; he was a fairly strong weatherwitch who could actually channel lightning, which was impressive to say the least. </p><p>“Did you know that their friend was of Evil?” Clint hissed.  He really was looking pissed off, and Daisy just couldn’t understand it. </p><p>Phil blinked once.  “Which one?”</p><p>“Grant Ward.”</p><p>He considered.  “Yes, I knew.  I’d had some ambivalent feelings toward him in the beginning, but now I know him better.  Besides, I’ve long ago realized that Daisy is going to choose her friends wisely, and he’s trusted on the Cay by a lot of people just because of his actions.  His personality has a lot to be desired, though.”  He rested a hand on Clint’s shoulder.  “You can’t judge everyone with the same patronage by what a few have done, Clint.  I think you know that.”</p><p>So, someone of Evil had once done something to Clint.  That made his reaction to Grant more sensible, and a person couldn’t control their reactions in some ways, if what had been done had been bad enough.  Daisy was willing to make allowances if that was the case.  And it made her think better of his apparent prejudiced attitude as something he couldn’t control, and not a conscious choice.</p><p>Clint narrowed his eyes at him, but he nodded once, a sharp movement that Daisy couldn’t tell was some form of agreement or denial.  There was still that tension thrumming between them, and she really wished they’d do something about it…but now wasn’t the right time.  Not when they were going to get some answers to whatever the Havens was going on. </p><p>Because it hadn’t escaped her notice that there were distinct undercurrents about a lot of the trips they’d been on, especially the one when they’d taken Clint onboard.  Phil had only told them that Priest Fury had asked for them to fetch him, and Daisy honestly believed that he’d been as much in the dark as the rest of them, but it was obvious now that the captain knew everything, and that it was much bigger than anything Daisy could have imagined. </p><p>The curiosity granted her by the Lady of Secrets was thrilled that they were finally going to get some answers.</p><p>“We’re ready,” Melinda’s voice said from behind her.  Daisy turned, and the rest of the crew had been gathered in the shadow of the wheelhouse.</p><p><em>Lola’s Dream </em>didn’t have a big crew.  But then, it wasn’t really needed.  Their ship wasn’t that large, and despite the fact that there was only one actual seaman onboard it was incredibly well-run.  None of the rest of them might have been of Peace except Mack, but they were exceptionally trained, and were as tight a crew as could be had anywhere.  Daisy herself was proud of everything she’d learned since she’d first stepped foot on the <em>Dream</em>’s clean decks as an official member of the crew; how to tie knots, and run sails, and how not to lose her footing while climbing up to the highest point of the masts.  She’d even made a few animal friends along the way, although fishes and such had a different way of speaking.  However, the one leviathan they’d run into had been downright chatty, and had followed them for leagues before Daisy had told him to go back home to his family. </p><p>“Thank you, Melinda.” Phil took a deep breath, then made his way over to the crew.  Daisy followed, knowing that Clint and the others were right behind her.  She watched as the captain greeted them all, then stood with his back to the wheelhouse, just on the side of the hatch leading down belowdecks.  As she came to a stop, Lucky came up and leaned against her, and she rested her hand on his head, the dog’s emotions suddenly quite serious.</p><p>“May I have your attention?” Any chattering ceased at Phil’s request.  “Thank you.”  He turned toward their resident Mage.  “Lance, can you ward us please?”</p><p>Lance looked a little surprised at the request.  Daisy was, as well.  What could be so secret that Phil wouldn’t want to risk anyone overhearing it?  Especially since they were in their home port?  If she hadn’t been intrigued before…</p><p>With a wave of his hand and muttered word, Lance surrounded the crew with a bubble that rippled a little as if it was reflecting a sun-formed haze.  “You’re warded,” he announced unnecessarily.</p><p>Phil thanked him.  He then let his eyes meet everyone’s; when he reached Daisy, she couldn’t help but notice the weariness and resignation within them.  “By now,” he began, “you’re all aware that you’ll be leaving later today, and that I won’t be going with you.”</p><p>There were unhappy nods all around, Daisy one of them.  It just wasn’t <em>right</em> that Phil wasn’t captaining the <em>Dream.</em>  Whatever was going on, it must have been important to keep him out of his proper place on the ship.</p><p>“Melinda will be Captain while I’m not here, with Mack serving as her First Mate and Trip as Second –”</p><p>“Temporarily,” Mack spoke up. </p><p>“Temporarily,” Phil agreed amiably.  “I’m going to let you know everything that’s going on, but what I’m about to tell you cannot go beyond the ship.  If you feel you can’t make that promise, then you can stand down for this trip.  Your place will still be here, but not for the time being.  I won’t hold it against anyone not wanting to work under such secrecy.”</p><p>He glanced around again.  No one moved, or spoke up.  Daisy was so proud of them all.  This was her family, and they were sticking together.</p><p>She could tell Phil was proud of them as well.  “I thought you’d all feel that way.”  He didn’t sound at all smug; he was obviously humbled by them all staying the course.  Like he didn’t feel like he deserved their loyalty and was surprised that it had been given.  Daisy thought that was silly, because Phil did deserve it.  He’d done everything in his power to protect his crew, and he looked after them before he’d ever think to look after himself.   It made Daisy want to wrap him up in the softest wool and feed him soup she’d made herself.</p><p>Only she didn’t know how to make soup.  Her Deity hadn’t blessed her with that particular ability, and the last thing she wanted to do was poison him with her cooking.</p><p>“There are a lot of things you need to know before we part company for a while…”</p><p>And, with that, Phil laid it all for them.</p><p>That Clint was actually the true King of Waverlyn.</p><p>That almost everything they’d been witnessing in their travels all came down to that massacre thirty turns ago, and that the world’s governments were slowly destabilizing under the imbalance between the Twelve.  And then Phil told them what had caused the imbalance…and Daisy had both hands over her mouth, gasping in shock and awe, because the newest member of their family was an actual child of her very own Deity, whose Avatar had been destroyed in the Massacre.</p><p>It…seemed so very impossible, and yet Daisy just <em>knew</em> it was true. </p><p>That the end goal of everything was to put Clint on the throne and repair the destabilization.  But, to do that, Clint had to at least <em>seem</em> to have the support of other countries, which was why <em>Lola’s Dream </em>was going to Brittanium…to find the exiled Prince of Asgard, of all people, in hopes that they could find a way to not only help the Prince, but to make it seem like Clint had Asgard’s approval. </p><p>That led to the explanation of Phil’s mission…going to Aal’valla, and hoping to convince a group of warrior assassins to lend Clint one of their own as a form of gaining status due to an old treaty between the Aalveyn and Waverlyn.</p><p>That was why Daisy couldn’t go.</p><p>She <em>hated</em> it, but she understood.  Because Phil would want to protect her from the prejudice of his own people, and he didn’t want her to get hurt.  It sucked that he felt she needed that protection, but she would let him get away with it for now.  And she would be needed on the <em>Dream</em>, that losing just one person in their small crew would have consequences. </p><p>And because he trusted her to do the right thing.</p><p>“Excuse me,” Davis spoke up, “but why do you think you have a chance at doing that?  No offense meant,” he hastened to add, realizing what his question had sounded like.</p><p>Phil chuckled.  “No, it’s a good question.  The truth is…” he took a deep breath, “my father is the Chieftain of Clan Coulson.  So, I have a bit of…well, power, I suppose, within the Aalveyn government.  It’s not something I’d ever wanted to trade on, but for this…I will.”</p><p>There were a few murmurs, but Daisy didn’t say anything.  She was too busy picking her jaw up off the deck, because that was pretty much the very last thing she would have suspected.  That the man she considered as close to a father as she would ever get was, in fact, a high-powered Aalveyn with what might be enough influence to gain the true King of Waverlyn enough cachet with the Red Room to….</p><p>Shit.</p><p>She now had to look at Phil’s offer of his clan name with new eyes.  In the beginning, Daisy hadn’t really been sure he had the ability to do that sort of thing.  Because that single offer to a <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn would have been nearly impossible to uphold with the Clan Council, although she could have really cared less about what a bunch of self-righteous assholes thought.  She’d been touched by the offer, but a tiny voice in the back of her mind had been whispering that there would have been no way Phil could have upheld that promise to her, not officially. </p><p>But now…</p><p>Daisy was even more flummoxed and honored by that original offer now than she’d been when it had first been made.  Maybe someday she’d feel good enough about herself to accept.</p><p>“Now you know it all,” Phil finished.  “We all have our parts to play, and mine means I can’t go with you on this voyage.  But I trust each of you.  Follow Melinda’s orders, and come back safely.”  For a beat, sadness seemed to weigh him down, and it was all Daisy could do not to move forward and hug him again.  But, he was the Captain now, and it was the wrong time. </p><p>“But how are we going to be able to land at any port in Brittanium?” Lance spoke up.  “Let alone find this Prince and get him to agree.”</p><p>“How do we even know he’s there?” Piper asked. </p><p>“Through my contact there,” Phil answered.  “You’ve all been there before, and you know who I talk to in Londron. I’ll be honest…we don’t even know if Prince Thor is even still there.  It might be a wasted trip, and I don’t hold out hope that it’s going to be easy.  But we need to try.”</p><p>Reading between the lines, Daisy could see that Phil didn’t have a lot of confidence in their mission, but it didn’t have anything to do with his crew’s competency.  Brittanium was a big country, and who knew how old that information was? </p><p>“Melinda knows the plan on how to get into port,” Phil finished, “at least for a little while.  She’ll go over it with the ones involved in that plan.”</p><p>Daisy really wanted to know what that plan was.  She guessed it had to do with the three Brittanium citizens they had as crew, because that would make the most sense.  Perhaps having citizens onboard will give them an in?  She certainly hoped that was the case, if they wanted to have any chance at all in performing this mission. </p><p>She had a feeling that Davis’ Chaos magic was going to get a workout.  He’d always called himself a minor Chaos Mage, but he was a bit more powerful than he gave himself credit for.  And having Chaos on their side was never a bad thing.</p><p>“We’ll do our best, Captain,” Jemma piped up.</p><p>“We will,” Leo agreed.</p><p>He gave them both a smile.  “I know you will.”  Phil gave them all a smile.  “Do you have any questions before Melinda gets ready to sail?”</p><p>“I have one,” Lance raised his hand.  At Phil’s nod, he said, “Are you sure Barton’s a bloody King?  He doesn’t look like one to me.”  There was teasing in the words, so it was pretty obvious the mage wasn’t being serious. </p><p>“Fuck you, man,” Clint snarked back, grinning.  Although, there was something in his eyes that Daisy thought might have been uncertainty.  Or maybe even fear.  And who could blame him?  He’d gone from being a mercenary to an actual Prince.  It had to have been a bit of a disconnect for him.</p><p>“Sorry, you’re not my type.”</p><p>Which was true.  Hadn’t Lance once said he’d been married?  Oh yeah, something about the woman being some sort of ‘demonic fire-beast’.  It would have been shocking if Lance didn’t still look fond every time he said it.</p><p>That had everyone in the gathered crew either laughing or rolling their eyes, which Daisy was pretty sure had been Lance’s intent, while Clint waggled his eyebrows at the other man in an over-the-top attempt at lasciviousness.</p><p>“I’m going to let you all prepare for departure.”  Phil stood straight, shoulders back.  “I am proud of each and every one of you.  May the Twelve look after you all, and bring you back home safely.”</p><p>It was a benediction, and Daisy found herself bowing her head in acceptance. There was something in that beat, something almost holy.  She didn’t understand it, but it was coming from the only parental figure in her life, and she had to wonder just what it meant.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Chapter 35</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>They left the ship together, Clint waving Phil down the gangplank first, then following.</p><p>No, he didn’t watch the Aalveyn’s ass on the way down, as Phil took the narrow wooden plank with sure feet.</p><p>Alright, he did.</p><p>But that was fine.  He’d acknowledged his feelings, knew they were inappropriate and that nothing could come of them, and understood that once he was King – if he got that far – their paths would most likely never cross again.  Clint would be on the throne of Waverlyn, while Phil would be with his crew, traveling the oceans of the world once more. </p><p>That didn’t mean he couldn’t look, however.  He <em>was</em> only mortal, after all.</p><p>Once they were on solid land, they walked side by side, Lucky an ever present shadow at his back.  It felt…right, to have Phil there with him, like the Aalveyn was an extension of himself, and Clint had to quash that particular sensation back down.  He might have been dealing with his emotions as well as he could, but <em>that</em>…no, this <em>wasn’t</em> new, and he couldn’t fool himself into thinking it.  He’d been like this during the voyage to Zephyr Cay, spending time with Phil and getting to know him as much as the Aalveyn would let him in.</p><p>He’d noticed that, as much as Phil loved his crew, he’d been a bit standoffish with them, as if he hadn’t wanted to get too close for some reason.  These people were his family, he cared for them, and yet there’d been times when he would purposely distance himself.   Now that Clint knew why that was, thanks to Peggy, and it made him a little sad to think about it.  He’d never really had anyone he could consider family…his foster parents had tried, but Clint hadn’t made it easy, since he’d been so certain he hadn’t fit in, and had left as soon as he possibly could, never going back despite the vague thoughts of doing so.  Well, there’d been Kate, but she was more like an irritating little sister, and Clint hadn’t seen her in turns.  That wasn’t any sort of way for family to behave.</p><p>He didn’t count King Charles as any sort of brother, not after what that bastard had done.</p><p>“I don’t see your new friend,” Phil commented as they walked past Jasper’s office.</p><p>Clint snorted, glad to have something to talk about; the silence had been getting fairly stifling.  “Hawkeye was so enamored over the fact that Jasper could speak with them, that they decided to stay with him for a bit.”  He was quite disgusted with it, to be honest.</p><p>“You find out anything interesting?”</p><p>The hunter barely managed to keep himself from snorting again.  “Jasper won’t tell me.  He says Hawkeye told him not to.”  He sighed.  “The Lady of Secrets part of me is going insane with not knowing.”</p><p>That comment had Phil chuckling. “I can imagine. Is there any reason Jasper gave for Hawkeye not wanting him to say anything?”</p><p>“Only that it wasn’t time.  Which, to be honest, is a refrain I’ve been getting recently.”</p><p>Phil glanced over at him, curiosity in his eyes.  “What do you mean?”</p><p>Clint only debated with himself for a single beat before answering.  “When Hawkeye first showed up, they brought a message with them…from my mother.”</p><p>Phil stopped walking, bringing Clint to a halt as well. “You spoke to the Deity?” His voice was hushed, as if he was afraid someone would overhear.  The area of the docks they were in were fairly quiet at that time of the day, with many of the vessels that had permanent berths there out at sea, going about their business.  Besides the <em>Dream, </em>which would have been busy getting ready to sail, there were three other ships currently in port, and they weren’t standing close enough to any of them at that tick.</p><p>Still, Clint appreciated the urge to keep this between themselves.</p><p>He nodded.  “She told me certain things…things that I can’t talk about yet.  Something needs to happen first, and she said I’d know when it was time to…reveal what she told me.  So, I kinda get it, there are things going on that we can’t know about, but I’ve always been able to work out things about people…as you know…and I’ve suddenly come to realize there’s such a thing as too many secrets.  But I have to live with it, because that’s who I am now.”</p><p>Phil’s hand reached out then, before he could touch Clint, it dropped back down at his side.  “This might sound hollow, but I wish there was something I could do…”</p><p>The hunter gave him a lopsided smile.  “I appreciate that.  And, you have to know if there was a way to avoid you having to face going back to Aal’valla…”</p><p>Phil grimaced.  “I know.  But that’s the way it is, if we want to fix things…”</p><p>“Sometimes it feels like the Deities are setting us up to fail.  That they’ve got all this planned out, but it’s never going to work the way they want it…”  It was a doubt he’d been having lately.  “In a way, the Deities are the ones who’ve made this mess, and we’re expected to clean it up…”</p><p>“If it were just the Deities,” Phil said, “I’d be the first to renounce them and let them to it.  But, it’s not just them.  They’ve given the races of Marvala free will and, in the end, we’re ultimately responsible for things getting out of control.  Believe me, I’ve done my fair share of ranting against Light for doing what he’d done to me.  So I totally understand.”  He stepped a little closer, but still just outside Clint’s personal space.  “However, there’s one thing I can’t curse them for…and that was for Darkness bringing you into this world. Clint.  You might not be of Light, but Marvala would certainly be a darker place without you in it.”</p><p>Clint’s chest warmed as he looked into Phil’s brilliantly blue eyes, seeing the sincerity there.  The Aalveyn meant every single word he’d said and, if Clint couldn’t have loved him any more in that moment…</p><p>He also couldn’t help the slight lean forward and, for a couple of beats, he believed Phil was going to do the same.  His heart was thundering against his ribs like a trapped bird, and he knew this was wrong, but after what Phil had said…</p><p>And then Phil stepped back, the tips of his highly pointed ears going a little pink.  His eyes dropped, refusing to look at Clint.  For a single beat, his aura flared, and his hidden wings mantled over his head, beaming in the sunlight like a feathery halo.  Clint knew he would have been the only one to see them, and it gave him a feeling of pride and responsibility, that he was trusted with knowledge of their existence, even though he’d discovered them completely by an accident of his gifts.  He’d never shared it with anyone, and would defend Phil’s right to keep them a secret to his grave.</p><p>“I need to go…”  With that mumbled sentence, Phil was practically fleeing down the docks and toward town, leaving Clint to stare after him.</p><p>He had to admit that he was disappointed but, at the same time, Clint totally understood.  What was between them was impossible, could never be acted on.  He understood the reasoning behind it; he’d never push for something he wouldn’t be able to follow through on.</p><p>This had been growing between them almost from that first time he’d stepped into the captain’s cabin onboard <em>Lola’s Dream,</em> demanding to know what was going on and pointing an arrow right at Phil’s heart.  From the instant he’d put his bow down and accepted that Phil was on the level, they’d been heading toward this.  Clint could see the path easily, smoothly paved with friendship and respect despite the fact that they were complete opposites in their beliefs.</p><p>The stronger emotions had come out of nowhere, and from what Peggy had said – and from what Clint had now been able to observe – Phil felt the same way, if afraid to act on them out of his very real need to protect himself.  So, the hunter had only received the same reticence that the Aalveyn had given the rest of his ‘found’ family, that slight distance that wouldn’t have been noticeable except Clint had always been good at seeing things.  Alright, it was usually better at a distance, but everything about Phillipjaraynan’coulson drew him in, giving him an up close perspective he’d never really had before.</p><p>
  <em>Darkness cannot exist without Light.</em>
</p><p>It was the mantra his mother had given him, and Hawkeye had repeated it.  It was a basic tenet of the <em>Book of the Eternities,</em> going back to the Third Eternity when the Deities re-emerged from the Havens and had developed themselves as they were now.  There was one for each of the paired Deities, because one could not exist without its opposite number.</p><p>And they were seeing the results of that sort of imbalance now, with Evil overpowering Good, and Light growing stronger as Darkness waned. </p><p>But Phil was correct.  It wasn’t just the Deities that have gotten them into this mess.  King Charles had chosen to make a pact with Evil for power.  Phil’s father had chosen to hide his own son’s gifts in order to further his own prestige.  King Odin had banished his only son and heir.  The Brittanium Parliament had decided that cutting their country off from the rest of the world would solve all their problems.  The nephew to the King of Wakanda had attempted a coup that had resulted in the death of King T’Chaka and the elevation of Prince T’Challa to the throne, and had created chaos within the kingdom.  The Governor of the Shield Islands grasping onto control with an iron fist.</p><p>The list went on and on.</p><p>Decision after bad decision.  All of it culminating in the situation they had now.</p><p>And yet, it was this situation with Phil that preyed more on Clint’s mind. </p><p>He wished…oh, how he <em>wished</em>.</p><p>Lucky leaned into his leg, giving a little whine of sympathy.  He might never have the ability that Daisy did, with her gift to understand animals, but his bond with the dog had only grown in the tendays he’d been studying under Nick Fury.  He reached down and scratched between Lucky’s ears.  Then, taking a deep breath, he made his own way out of the docks area, heading toward Fury’s house.  He still had training to do before leaving for Aal’valla, which would be as soon as the <em>Avenger</em> could get back, restock, and then leave once more. </p><p>Then, he would have at least two tendays on a ship with Phil.  A part of Clint was wondering just how long he’d be able to withstand the temptation to kiss him…and what would happen if he wasn’t able to.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Chapter 36</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Phil practically fled, terrified at just how close he’d come to kissing Clint.</p><p>He couldn’t do that.  That way lay madness.</p><p>There was no way he could ever get that close again.  He couldn’t risk his heart, his soul, in giving in to his emotions when it came to Clint Barton.  And it wasn’t even his own need to step back from getting too involved with the hunter anymore, in his attempt to escape from what losing him would cost; Clint was the rightful King of Waverlyn, and even if he was willing to give in and take that last, terrifying step toward destroying himself, he couldn’t.  Clint would need to make certain attachments that were good for his kingdom, and taking an Aalveyn male as a lover wouldn’t work.</p><p>Deities, how was he going to make it through the voyage to Aal’valla without breaking himself even more than he already was?</p><p>He’d taken such pride in his ability to emotionally distance himself from everyone he would eventually lose.  The closest he’d ever gotten to anyone had been to Daisy, and that was because she was <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn and her lifespan would be greatly increased because of her Aalveyn mother’s blood.  And, even as good a friend as he was with Nick and Melinda, they were simply that…friends.  That was a completely different emotional attachment altogether.  Then, of course, there were the twins, but Dragons lived even longer than the Aalveyn did, so Phil didn’t have to worry about losing them unless something catastrophic occurred.</p><p>He let his feet take him toward home, not bothering to stop and take one of the horses from the livery.  It wasn’t that far, and he needed to calm down before he had to face anyone again.  Ana would still be there; she’d still been asleep when he’d gone to talk to his crew before they left for Brittanium, and Phil didn’t know if she would be awake when he got home.  At least the twins were gone, still on their mission to fetch back the <em>Avenger,</em> so he didn’t have to worry about them.  Both Wanda and Pietro knew him much better than Ana, and would have been able to tell he wasn’t himself.  He wasn’t ready to face any sorts of questions about his emotional state.</p><p>He thought he caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of Clint on a horse, riding toward Nick’s, but he didn’t turn to confirm it.  Phil didn’t feel safe looking at the hunter at the tick.  He was already hurting enough.</p><p>There was a tiny, nearly inaudible, voice at the back of his head that was telling him it was already too late, that when he was inevitably separated from Clint for good that it was going to be agony. </p><p>He wasn’t about to acknowledge its existence.</p><p>The scent of something cooking hit his nose as he stepped into the house.  His stomach rumbled at the tantalizing smell, and Phil made his way to the kitchen, where Ana was up and bustling about.  Something was bubbling on the stove, while that lovely smell was coming from the stone oven that had been built into one wall, metal door closed so that its contents were hidden from sight.  There was a loaf of bread on the sideboard.  “How did you have time to bake bread?” he blurted, surprised.</p><p>Ana turned to smile at him as she began stirring the pot.  “I didn’t.  However, the shops were close enough that I was able to do a little shopping.”  Her expression turned disapproving.  “You didn’t have much in the way of supplies on hand.”</p><p>“I’ll be leaving in a couple of days,” he defended himself.  “It didn’t make sense to buy too much.”</p><p>She nodded.  “Yes, that does make sense.  However, this should be enough to tide you over until you do have to travel.”  Ana gave the pot another strong stir.  “Beef stew, which will keep.  And I also baked a small cake for dessert.”</p><p>“You didn’t have to do that.”  He’d planned on eating some of the meats and cheeses he’d had on hand.  He didn’t want to admit that he rarely used the oven, unless he was in the mood for the lucky scones his mother used to make him when he was feeling down.  They never reached the pinnacle of what she’d been able to make, simply because he’d been too young to really comprehend the recipe, but no one had ever complained when he’d given the extras away.</p><p>“Of course I did.”  She waved his objection away.  “Besides, I wanted something hearty to eat before I headed back to Waverlyn.  Self-shaping is best done on a full stomach.”</p><p>Phil nodded, not going to argue with her.</p><p>Ana stirred for another tick or so, then turned to face him.  “Pardon me if I’m out of bounds, but I can’t help but notice that you’re looking a little distressed…”</p><p>The Aalveyn mentally cursed himself.  He’d thought he’d gotten his thoughts and emotions under control, but apparently Ana Jarvis was very preceptive.  Phil prided himself on his ability to hide things under a mask, but she was seeing behind it…unless it wasn’t as good as he thought it was.  “It’s…personal,” he finally admitted.</p><p>“Of course it is.”  Her voice was full of sympathy.  “I won’t pry, but if you feel like talking to someone not involved…”</p><p>It was tempting.  Ana didn’t know anything about Phil besides what Pepper had told her, and the couple of times they’d actually met.  She would have an unbiased point of view, and wouldn’t be on anyone’s side in the matter.</p><p>However, talking about his feelings…Phil was a naturally reserved individual, by choice and by upbringing, so it was harder done than actually considered.</p><p>He let the silence spin out as his answer to her offer.</p><p>Ana seemed to accept it. “I do have to ask,” she finally said, “but was that young man who was here yesterday the Prince?”</p><p>A change of subject.  Phil could deal with that and, in fact, saw no real reason to deny it.  “It was.”</p><p>A bright grin graced her features.  “He’s quite handsome.  And blessed by Light as well as Darkness!  Our hope couldn’t be in better hands, I think.”</p><p>Phil had to think about that.  Clint? Blessed by Light?  He hadn’t thought about it that way, but the Flutterbye could very well have been considered that.  Ana didn’t know that the creature had come with a message from Darkness, but then Darkness and Light were bound together as opposites, so it would only make sense that Light would want Darkness back.  So, he could see them working together to restore things.</p><p>If he had to say, Phil would have made a note that, in the circumstances of the world at the beat, it was only Evil who’d chosen to work against the Twelve in order to further his own power.</p><p>It made no sense.  Was this some sort of attempt to usurp ultimate power?  Or had it been a way to bring mortals back into worship of the Twelve?  If that was it, it had been a massive failure.</p><p>Phil had no idea.  He wasn’t about to assume that he understood the Deities.  The Aalveyn might have been the first of the mortal races, but that didn’t mean they were any closer to the Twelve than Human or Skell or anyone else.  Apparently, though, they were relying on the mortals to fix this, perhaps relying on them too much…</p><p>His guest gave the stew one last stir then, taking one of his kitchen towels, used it to pull the large pot off the flame.  Ana turned the knob that controlled the flow of gas to the burner, making certain the fire was out, then turned to Phil.  “Why don’t you slice some of the bread while I fill the bowls?”</p><p>The Aalveyn did as she asked, taking one his sharper knives and making neat slices from the loaf, the scent of the stew making his stomach rumble even louder than before.  Ana laughed, saying, “I’m glad it smells that good.”</p><p>Phil joined her in laughter, taking down a plate and arranging the slices on it.  Ana had gotten butter as well, and he grabbed the crock that had been tucked back out of the way.  “I hope you had them charge my account for all this.”</p><p>“I did,” she sounded slightly regretful. “I can shape my clothing, but nothing like coins or anything else heavier.  I’d gone hoping they’d know who you were and would accept credit.”</p><p>Ana was making it sounds as if it was personal failure for doing what she’d done, and Phil rested a hand on her shoulder.  “You did more than you had to, bringing me word of what Pepper was up to.  You’re my guest, and I don’t mind you doing that at all.   Besides, I’m going to eat more of this than you will, since you’re leaving soon.”</p><p>“I’m very worried about Mistress Pepper,” Ana admitted as they carried their meal out to the small table Phil used to eat his own meals. </p><p>Phil was, as well.  He went back into the kitchen for something to drink for them, seeing that Ana had already made tea.  He poured them both mugs, taking them back out to the table.  “Do you take anything in your tea?” he inquired, placing one of the mugs next to her bowl.</p><p>“No, thank you.”  She smiled brightly.  The smiled dimmed almost immediately.  “Was Priest Fury able to get word to his contact at Waverlyn Castle?”</p><p>“I’m sure he has, and no doubt Pepper, Lord Tony, and their Skell friend are on their way back to the Tower even as we speak.”  He took a bite of the stew; the beef was tender, the vegetables just spicy enough to put a burn at the back of his throat.  “And, if there was any problem, I passed along the name of a contact I have in Waverly.  If they aren’t able to get back home, they can go there for protection.”</p><p>Ana relaxed.  “Is it possible to know the name of this contact, as well?  Just in case.  I’m not saying we may need it, but…”</p><p>She had a point, one that Phil wished he’d thought of.  It would certainly make sense if she and her husband had a place to go if something <em>did</em> occur and they had to leave the Tower.  “Yes, you should have it.  If you have to run, go to the Blue Mockingbird Tavern in Waverly, in Tannery Lane.  Ask for Bobbi Morse.  Tell her I gave you her name, and she’ll take care of you.”  Bobbi was a good friend.  She was Lance’s ex-wife, and their dissolution before the Priest of Life had been rancorous, filled with bitter recrimination and misunderstandings.  It had been Bobbi who’d asked Phil to take Lance on as his ship’s mage, but that was a little detail Lance didn’t know.  Phil wasn’t about to tell him, since Bobbi had asked him not to, since there was one way to get Lance to refuse to do anything was to say that Bobbi had suggested it.  Lance might be happy now, but just mentioning Bobbi to him was a good way to bring on a temper tantrum of epic proportions.  Mack, who also knew Bobbi, had managed to make friends with the sometimes prickly mage, and Lance had proved to be quite the asset to the <em>Dream’s </em>crew.</p><p>“I’m also going to give you the name of a friend in Morgantown, in case you can’t get the Waverly.”  It was a distinct possibility; both were a fairly equal distance from the Tower, only Waverly was more south and Morgantown west.  It would depend on circumstances; he’d only mentioned Waverly to Pepper, because it was just on the other side of the mountains from Waverlyn Castle.  “His name is Wilmer Idaho, and the name of his tavern is the Merc’s Prize in Bailey Street.”</p><p>Ana laughed.  “Do you enjoy hanging about taverns, Captain?”</p><p>Phil smiled.  “You can get the best information from people who are too drunk to sensor themselves.” </p><p>He would have mentioned Mike Peterson, but as Mike was a mercenary there was no telling if he was still in Morgantown, if he’d found work with another caravan.  Wil would be the safer bet if anything went wrong. </p><p>“I suppose that does make sense.”  She looked at him closely, setting her spoon down gently.  “I know there’s something more going on here, and I also know you cannot tell me much.  Just know that Edwin and I are willing to help if need be.  Getting the Prince on the throne of Waverlyn is important.  We cannot allow things to continue to deteriorate the way they have, and there needs to be justice for the poor souls that the King murdered in his quest for power.”</p><p>She was absolutely correct.  It was amazing that Nick had been working behind the scenes for so many turns, and no one had known it.  Oh, Phil had heard certain things from his friend over the turns, and that Nick had asked him to build up a web of contacts in many different countries – hence Melinda’s assertion that he’d become Nick’s spymaster – but, until that meeting after Clint had arrived, none of them had had any idea that it had to do with the supposedly dead Prince of Waverlyn. </p><p>He reached over and took her hand.  “I promise you, Mistress Ana…if you can help in any way, we’ll get word to you.”</p><p>The woman smiled at him a little tremulously.  “Good.  And please…it’s Ana.”</p><p>“Then it’s Phil.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Chapter 37</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Pepper concentrated on what she was doing, ignoring the gritty feel in her eyes and the pounding headache between her temples.</p><p>She didn’t sleep much last night, not after her visitor and then going back to inform Tony of what she’d learned.  Tony had been surprised, and he hadn’t agreed with Yelena’s wanting them to leave, to get out of the situation they’d found themselves in.  Knowing that the prince was safe wasn’t enough to derail Tony; now that their original plan was no longer valid, he’d wanted to hang around and see about learning more about what was going on.  Pepper wanted to fight him on it, and it ended up Rhodey who’d butted in and calmed down the worst of their Lord’s excesses, suggesting that they get away from the castle at least for a little while so they could discuss their options… and that included bringing Brukk up to date.</p><p>Which was why Pepper was in the kitchens, getting stared at as she packed a large basket with food and wine, doing her best to ignore the servants bustling around even as she watched how they reacted around her.</p><p>From the moment they’d arrived and Pepper had found herself being around the castle’s lower caste workers, it had been obvious that the ones who were there because they needed to work far outweighed the ones who were content with blindly following the current ruler no matter what he did.  Pepper had to wonder just how bad the turnover was, because so many of these people obviously didn’t want to be there, but had to because work was getting scarcer and scarcer.  It made her think of the lengths Tony had gone through in order to protect his tenants and workers.  It was bad all over Waverlyn, and Pepper wondered just how much worse it could get.</p><p>She was well aware of what they were thinking; their surface thoughts were too obvious to ignore, despite the fact that Pepper had her gifts reined in as much as possible and were being stifled by the atmosphere in the castle.  That she was a stranger, an outsider, with her fancier clothes and her Aalveyn ears and better than average manners.  Each of them knew who she was: Virgianalanyan’coulson, Chatelaine of Stark Tower, and that she didn’t belong among the servants and in the underbelly of Waverlyn Castle.  Pepper was an interloper, she didn’t fit in, and they didn’t trust her.</p><p>They thought she was better than they were, but Pepper didn’t believe that.  She might have had a larger role back home, but she really was another version of servant, one that loved her position and wouldn’t trade it for anything.  These poor folks didn’t have that same satisfaction, and they were understandably annoyed by her presence and what they saw as her upper-class airs. </p><p>Which was funny, because Pepper hadn’t even had those back home with her clan.  There was nothing at all superior about her, and it had been that attitude that had had her leaving Aal’valla in the first place, or at least one of the reasons.  She’d needed to escape all that, because she couldn’t be that sort of person.</p><p>And she had.  Had made her own way in the world, eventually taking her position in Stark Tower, and it had been like she’d been missing something in her life.  Pepper couldn’t explain it, but it was true.  It was where she belonged.</p><p>Finishing up the basket, Pepper looped the handle over her arm, supporting the overly heavy weight of it, and left the kitchen, glad to leave the stares and the thoughts behind.  She knew it wasn’t their fault they thought that way, and she could only hope that the new king, when he came to power, would do something to help them.</p><p>The new king.</p><p>It was an exciting notion, that there was the rightful King of Waverlyn out there, somewhere, and that her own cousin knew about him.  Pepper had run that through her mind, that Phil had somehow managed to involve himself in all this sort of intrigue, and it made her smile.  It was ironic really, that Phil, who’d left Aal’valla because of the political stuff, was now again back into that very same thing.  She wondered if he’d even considered it that way.</p><p>She checked the time as she strode past the plain timepiece out in the corridor; it was nearly the tenth mark, the time Tony had told her to meet them in the front hall.  Honestly, Pepper believed they all needed to get out of the castle at least for a little while, the atmosphere wearing on each of them, if in different ways.  She didn’t need to be a knower to understand that; she could read the deepening lines at the corners of Rhodey’s eyes, and the hear it in the sharpening of Tony’s tongue.  She wasn’t the only one being affected, only Pepper was self-aware enough to understand that it was worse for her, because of her alliance with Good. </p><p>She really should have realized it was going to be that bad.  But she’d only thought of saving the Prince of Waverlyn. </p><p>The new version of Waverlyn Castle was enormous, and yet it seemed so small and cramped.  The walls were thick stone, heavy tapestries and paintings hung in order to hide the starkness of the grey stone once she was out of the servants’ areas.  The overtones of Evil didn’t help it in Pepper’s eyes, but then she had to wonder how much the long-term denizens of the place could feel it, as deeply as their own lives were embedded within the castle.  She knew for a fact that she was the only devotee of Good in the place, and it wouldn’t be long before she had to leave or else have her personal mental protections thoroughly worn down by it.  Evil didn’t usually bother her, because it was a part of the world in which they lived, but this was soon going to be too much.  </p><p>The front hall was at least three stories tall, a large open area that had gaudily upholstered chairs set up along the walls.  The grand staircase that led up into the upper levels of Waverlyn Castle was of the same grey stone as the rest of the structure, and was carpeted in a blood red pile that had Pepper shivering slightly every time she saw it.  It made her imagine how the original castle had looked the night of the Massacre, of blood and death and the end of King Harold’s legacy. </p><p>Not that King Harold had all that much of a legacy, but he’d been a decent ruler if not an overly good man.  Queen Edith must have seen something in him to have married him and given him an heir, even if history didn’t say what that was.</p><p>She caught sight of Rhodey standing against the far wall, at almost a parade rest, his dark eyes scanning the small crowd that was in the front hall, coming and going about their business.  He noticed her almost as soon as she had him, and he nodded in welcome. He wasn’t wearing his full armor, but the chainmail he usually had on under the heavy plate, with his sword buckled at his waist. </p><p>James Rhodes had been Tony’s friend since they’d been children, and it showed in the trust between the two.  Pepper genuinely liked Rhodey; he’d been the one to advise her not to let Tony give her too much grief, and to not hold back if she wanted to gain the Lord’s respect.  That had been the best advice she’d ever been given.</p><p>Pepper also loved Rhodey’s mind.  His thoughts were calm, and structured.  The warrior was very much under near-perfect self-control, and it made him very pleasant to be around.  There were too many people whose surface thoughts were so loud Pepper couldn’t help but overhear them, but not Rhodey.  His mind was just that much under control.</p><p>“Tony will be down in a tick,” he said when she joined him.  She could tell he was just barely managing not to roll his eyes.  What he wasn’t saying was that Tony wouldn’t have slept last night, not after Pepper’s coming back to his room to report what Yelena had told her.  It really wasn’t all that surprising.</p><p>As if summoned by Rhodey’s mention of his name, Tony came bounding down the stairs, nearly knocking two courtiers out of his way and not bothering to apologize to them for it.  He’d put on casual clothes, but the people he’d almost sent sprawling didn’t snap back, so they must have recognized him as Lord Tony Stark.  “Let’s go, children,” he said by way of greeting.  He held out an arm to Pepper, who accepted it, letting her bare hand touch the skin of his wrist, bathing in his quicksilver thoughts for a moment in order to center herself a bit. </p><p>They were very nearly at the enormous main doors of the castle when Obadiah Stane’s hated voice stopped them in their tracks.</p><p>“Where are you going?” the man asked, couching the demand in a smile.</p><p>Through their contact, Pepper could feel Tony mentally bristling.  But, on the outside, he had on a snarky smile.  “Out,” he answered breezily. </p><p>“Out where?” Pepper could practically feel the suspicion in his thoughts.</p><p>Tony rolled his eyes.  “You’re not my father, Obie.  I don’t really have to answer to you.”  The words were sharp with irritation, him not bothering to hide how he was feeling.</p><p>Lord Obadiah held his hands up in an attempt to placate Tony…which didn’t work, because Pepper could tell.  “I was just curious, that’s all.  I didn’t want you to miss the meeting with His Majesty later this afternoon.”</p><p>The smile Tony gave this time was just on the wrong side of sharp.  “And I’m just hearing about this meeting why?”</p><p>“I was coming to tell you when I saw you heading toward the door.”</p><p>Pepper wished she could tell if he was being honest, but she suspected he was.  It had been a revelation to her just how much she counted on surface thoughts to judge a person’s truthfulness, when she suddenly couldn’t do it anymore.</p><p>“Well, then, tell me the time and I’ll be back.” </p><p>The man had been backed into a corner, and he knew it.  “At the fifteenth mark.”</p><p>“Then that gives us plenty of time to enjoy the day.”  With that Tony turned back toward the door, spinning Pepper with him.  “I meet with the King, then maybe I can head back to the Tower.”</p><p>Lord Obadiah darted around them. Putting himself between them and the doors.  “Go back to the Tower?”  His expression was openly confused, completely at odds with his thoughts she could suddenly just get the gist of.  He didn’t want Tony to leave, for some reason Pepper couldn’t find without probing deeper.  She wasn’t about to do that, for two reasons…one, the free-floating Evil in the air was stifling her a little; and two, there was no way she was going to get that deep into Lord Obadiah’s awful mind.  She also didn’t want to risk him feeling her rooting around, which was always a possibility, moreso now that her gifts were practically rubbish.</p><p>Tony rolled his eyes.  “I’m <em>bored</em>, Obie.  I’m away from my workshop and my books and there’s nothing to do here.  Rhodey suggested a ride and a picnic, which will at least get me out of here for a bit, but I’m beginning to wonder why I ever came with you in the first place.”</p><p>Pepper could tell what he was doing.  He was trying to maneuver Lord Obadiah into giving something away, of telling him the reason he’d been so insistent that Tony come to the castle in the first place.  There had to have been a reason for it, more than what he’d given, and because the man had been willing to stay at Stark Tower until Tony had agreed.  And, surprisingly, Lord Obadiah hadn’t bragged about it at all.</p><p>“When you meet with His Majesty,” Lord Obadiah answered, “you’ll know.”</p><p>Tony let out a put upon sigh, but Pepper could tell he was pleased with that admission.  “Fine.  I’ll be back.  But I’m leaving in the morning if I don’t get a satisfactory answer.  I <em>hate</em> being idle, as I know you’re aware.”</p><p>“I know.” Lord Obadiah gave him a pleased smile.  “But you’ll want to hear what King Charles would have to say.”</p><p>“I hope you’re right.”  With that, he tugged Pepper around Lord Obadiah, and toward the doors.</p><p>The heavy door opened smoothly under Tony’s hand, a system of counterweights keeping it perfectly balanced.  The courtyard behind was all of stone as well, the same stone as the castle, giving the area a rather bleak appearance as they walked down the long set of steps and then toward the stable where they would pick up horses.</p><p>Of course, this wasn’t the original Waverlyn Castle; that had been destroyed in the Massacre, melted to the foundations by the ancient Dragon, Garrett the Red.  No one knew where the Dragon had vanished to after the events, and honestly Pepper didn’t <em>want</em> to know.  How King Charles had managed to get a Dragon on his side, no one knew, and the story wasn’t shared around at all; but then, most people believed the propaganda spread about on how the Massacre had occurred.  And if they didn’t, they weren’t talking.</p><p>Just in the time she’d been in the castle, Pepper had come to realize that no one brought up the events of thirty turns ago, not if they wanted to keep their job…or their life.  Under the pervasive Evil, there was an undercurrent of fear and despair, and it made Pepper pitifully glad that empathy wasn’t one of her gifts, not like Peggy.  She wondered if her friend would have been able to come within half a league of the castle without being overwhelmed by it.</p><p>The stables were on the far side of the courtyard, and it only took a couple of ticks to have their three horses saddled and made ready.  Once they were out of the confines of the castle, Pepper felt like she could breathe a little easier, her tense muscles relaxing and nerves untwisting.  The Evil didn’t extend out much past the gates, thank the Deities, and soon her headache was fading a little as she removed herself from under the canopy of that power.</p><p>“Are we being followed?” Tony asked at one point. Pepper, who didn’t quite trust her gift yet, couldn’t answer.</p><p>But Rhodey could, since he’d been keeping an eye on their back trail ever since leaving Waverlyn Castle.  “No, they seem to be willing to give us a little privacy.”</p><p>“Then let’s head up toward where Brukk is hiding out.”  With that Tony was urging his horse into a canter, aiming its nose toward the north and west and into the foothills of the Stuyvesant Mountains.</p><p>The Stuyvesants bisected Waverlyn, running from the White Cliffs overlooking the southern ocean, to the northern foothills where the University had been built.  Stark Lands butted up against them on their eastern flank, and in their lower slopes was where their vineyards were, Stark wine being a fairly lucrative brand in several countries. </p><p>The new Waverlyn Castle had been constructed almost directly on the opposite side of the mountains from the ruins of the old, once King Charles had consolidated his power after the Massacre. </p><p>Pepper had often wondered if it was because King Charles hadn’t wanted to be reminded of what he’d done, more than as an effort to escape the ghosts that were rumored to be haunting the melted and broken stone of the older castle. She might not necessarily believe in ghosts but, if they were to haunt anywhere, it would have been the ruins of the old castle.</p><p>Now, she had to think it was because he’d caused the Massacre, not because he’d not been present and hadn’t wanted that reminder.</p><p>Brukk had taken a cave in the lowermost reaches of the mountains.  Being a Skell, he had a natural sense of stone, and had known there would be a cave there for him to stay in for the time being.  Pepper had been worried about him, but the Skell had waved her off, having carried enough supplies with him to last him for at least a tenday.  Now, it looked as if they wouldn’t be there that long, and Pepper was glad of it.  She wanted to go home, where she trusted the people around her and could figure out a way to help Phil and the prince. </p><p>Once they were in the foothills, the Aalveyn sent a thought tendril out toward their friend, locating him easily and letting him know that they were on the way. His call was faint but clear as a bell, and she used that tiny, tenuous link that she’d formed with him before leaving Stark Tower to lead the way, letting her horse pick its away along the path up the mountainside, trusting the animal to know where to set his hooves.  It was her horse that she’d ridden down to the castle on; all three horses were the ones they’d used most back at the Tower, so they knew their riders as well.  She only had to use small tugs on the reins to get him to go where she wanted, just as she let him pick the best way to get there.</p><p>The three of them rode silently.  Pepper could tell that Tony and Rhodey were lost in their own thoughts, although she didn’t read them out of respect.  She had her own thoughts to keep her occupied; like, how the prince had managed to be saved in the first place?  Why hadn’t Yelena and Fury made their move before now?  Just what was Phil’s place in their plans?  There was just so much she didn’t understand, and she desperately wanted to speak to her cousin about it, but knew that there was no way to do that.  Yes, she could decide to use the contact that Phil had given Yelena to pass on to her, but Pepper wasn’t sure that would be a good idea to do it frivolously.  Best to leave that in case of emergency.</p><p>It didn’t take them too much time locating Brukk.  He must have left the cave he’d found, and met them in a grove that had grown up in a dip between two rises, almost like a valley but not quite, and the Skell welcomed them effusively…well, effusively for the quiet Skell, of course.  Brukk was genuinely glad to see them, coming to meet them and offering to help Pepper with the basket she’d tried to her saddle.  She let him; she’d overfilled it, knowing that there would be four appetites instead of three, and not wanting to leave him out of their meal.</p><p>“How’s it going?” he asked as they dismounted.</p><p>“Ugh.”  Tony threw himself onto the ground.  “I hate the place.  It’s wearing, having to put a face to those sycophantic assholes all the time.”</p><p>“But if we’re having a problem,” Rhodey put in, settling himself down somewhat more gracefully than Tony had done, “for Pepper, it’s magnified.”</p><p>Pepper took her own seat, happy that she’d worn trousers for their outing.  “I won’t lie…all that concentrated Evil is stifling.  Brukk, I can’t even sense our connection anymore when I’m in the castle.”</p><p>The Skell’s green face looked concerned about that.  “How will I know if there’s any trouble?  Or if you find out anything about the prince?”</p><p>“Turns out our plan was pretty much a waste of time.”  Tony went on to explain what Pepper had told him last night.</p><p>“That’s good news though,” Brukk commented.  “Isn’t it?”</p><p>Pepper thought so, and said it.  “Now, we just need to extricate ourselves from the situation I pulled us all into and go home without anyone realizing that we know what we’re not supposed to.”</p><p>“It’ll have to be after this meeting I have with the king,” Tony added.  “This could be our chance to find out what’s going on.”</p><p>Pepper didn’t care for the idea one bit, but she knew she’d never argue Tony out of it.  They might be pretty much out of the espionage business – which, to be honest, was fine with her even though she’d been the one to instigate it – he was right about one thing: if they could find out just what the king had in mind for the lost Prince, it would put them ahead of the game.  They could get word to Phil and whoever was working with him, and it could be useful. </p><p>Still, she was worried about Tony seeing the King alone.  “Rhodey’s going with you, right?”</p><p>Tony rolled his eyes.  “Yes, Mom.”</p><p>“She’s talking sense,” Rhodey pointed out.  He was digging into the basket, bringing their meal out and passing things around.  Pepper had picked out finger foods, the better to clean up afterwards, as well as the nicest bottle of wine she could find.  It wasn’t a Stark label, but the northlands did make a decent vintage.  “We have no idea what the king will get up to.”</p><p>“He’s become a Plaguelord, Tony,” Pepper pressed.  “He can kill with a single touch.”  The very idea that someone would do that, voluntarily take in that sort of power…there was a reason Plaguelords were extremely rare.  That sort of pure, unadulterated Evil was far worse than any other sort of corruption that a follower of Evil could create.</p><p>“And if he thinks that Stane could do a better job with your lands than you can…” Rhodey added.</p><p>That was a frightening thought.  Lord Obadiah would run the Tower and their tenants into the ground within five turns.  The man wasn’t just a bigot and a liar, but he was avaricious as well, and he would steal from the coffers before using the wealth to help out the people he was supposed to be governing.</p><p>The Stark Lands might have been within the borders of Waverlyn, but they’d long been independent from the rest of the kingdom.  There had always been a Stark ancestor within the tower, and no one could take their lands away.  Some had tried, but the Stark family had always managed to stop the attempts. </p><p>So far.</p><p>But if King Charles could get rid of the current Lord of the Tower, and replace him with one of his own puppets… Tony didn’t have an official heir.  There would have been no one to fight anyone off if there was some sort of land grab. </p><p>Tony <em>had</em> to see that.  He had to understand that this could be the end of the family estates if it went wrong. </p><p>“Look, I get it.”  Tony’s face was as serious as Pepper had ever seen it.  “None of you have to explain to me what could happen.  But, just in the short time we’ve been at the castle, I’ve seen how bad things are.  How much of a tyrant Charles really is.  We don’t notice it so much, not at the Tower, even though we all know how bad things have gotten.  And it’s only going to get worse.”  He turned toward Pepper.  “I know you’ve seen how he treats his servants, Pep.  I know I wanted to argue about them putting you in the servants’ quarters, but a part of me was glad they did, because it really gave us a look behind the curtain, as it were.  It makes me wish we’d been doing more beyond our own borders long before now, because…” he scrubbed his hand through his hair.  “Shit.  Once we get out of this, we’re gonna find whatever resistance there is out there and offer them every single coin in the Stark Tower coffers.  I’ve been too complacent, and that needs to stop.”</p><p>In that beat, Pepper couldn’t have been prouder of Lord Tony Stark.  She’d been proud of him before, and of how he always took care of his servants and tenants; to anyone who didn’t know him, Tony appeared shallow and a wastrel, but that was just his outer appearance.  Inside, Tony <em>cared</em>, he’d just grown too afraid to show it outright, seeing it as a sign of weakness, thanks to his father and to Lord Obadiah’s influence.  There were times when Pepper was glad that Howard Stark had died before he could wreck Tony further. </p><p>“<em>We’re</em> going to help,” Brukk put in quietly. </p><p>“Damn right,” Rhodey chipped in.  “We have a prince now, who can take over.  And he can’t be any worse than the current king.  Right?”</p><p>Pepper nodded.  “If Phil is helping him, then he’s going to be a good man.”  Her cousin was an excellent judge of character, if she did admit it herself. </p><p>“Then I go to this meeting.”  Tony reached for a chicken leg, taking a small bite.  “We see just what King Bastard wants me for, and then we find a way to leave without drawing too much attention to the fact that we’re squicked out by all that free-flowing Evil in the place.”  He shuddered extravagantly. “The next king is gonna need to fumigate the castle if he’s gonna live there once this is all taken care of.  Even I can feel just how unsavory the atmosphere is in there.  And we all know it’s wrecking Pepper’s gifts.”</p><p>“I don’t know how you stand it, Pepper.”  Rhodey sounded in awe of her, and it made her blush a little.  “It has to be really bad for you to get that pinched look around your eyes.”</p><p>Pepper didn’t add that it had obviously been affecting them as well.  She didn’t think it needed to be said. </p><p>“As soon as we get away,” she did say, “I can call you, Brukk.  The effects don’t extend much past the courtyard.”</p><p>Honestly, the sooner they got out of there, the sooner Pepper could be at ease.  She was just sorry that her idea hadn’t panned out, but at the same time at least they knew that the Prince was safe.  That had to have been worth it, in the end.</p><p>Then they could figure out how to help things along.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0038"><h2>38. Chapter 38</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The Princess of Wakanda was Darcy’s “contact”.</p><p>Jane couldn’t have been more confused.  How did she even know the Princess of Wakanda?</p><p>“I am studying here,” the Princess explained, looking smug.  “I am a technomage, and as such greatly benefited from my time at the Academy.”</p><p>Jane was impressed by that, despite herself.  Someone who could use Magic in order to affect Technology was rare in the world, since both were the opposites of the other.  She wondered how that sort of thing was taught?  A part of her wanted to get a demonstration, but that was always rude to ask a person to show off their gifts.</p><p>“We met at a student protest,” Darcy explained breezily.</p><p>“We were protesting the country-wide lockdown,” Princess Shuri added, grinning widely.  “This whole thing hasn’t been as popular as the Parliament would like the citizens to believe.”</p><p>The Princess settled into one of the two chairs in the room; Darcy plopped down on the bed, leaning back on her hands and putting her legs out straight so that her feet hung over the side.  The woman – now obviously the Princess’ bodyguard – Okoye took up a nearly at-attention stance in the corner, so she could watch the entire room.  The unknown man went to the opposite corner as Okoye, leaning back against the wardrobe that had been set there, his pale eyes just as sharp as the warrior’s.</p><p>Between the two of them, they have the entire room covered.  It made Jane feel slightly uncomfortable.</p><p>Donald, though, didn’t seem perturbed at all.  In fact, he went to stand by the window, out of the way of the two who were keeping an eye out over the gathering, and he rested his back against the brightly colored curtain that covered the window’s glass. </p><p>Jane, not to be totally outdone, took the last chair.</p><p>“The problem,” Darcy continued, “is that the majority of those protesting aren’t registered Brittanium voters, being outside students.  There’s not a lot we can do to sway the vote, not when it’s the older generations that are agitating for isolation.”</p><p>“The rhetoric they put forth has been <em>insane</em>,” Princess Shuri put in.  “It has been too difficult to counter.  Darcy was the one who has been following events and has been instrumental in giving us protesters the verbal weapons we need to even begin to fix things.”</p><p>Jane had known that her assistant went to the protests, but not that she held that important a position within the anti-lockdown movement.  To discover that sort of thing wasn’t all that surprising, if she was honest.</p><p>Darcy’s expression was a combination of embarrassed and pleased by the compliment.  “I just wish more people were listening.  I mean, the governmental political scientists keep saying we’re wrong, but you have to wonder just what’s in it for them to get them to fall into line with the Parliament’s propaganda campaign.”</p><p>“That is the way of politics,” Donald said gravely.  “To get the result that you wish, you appoint those who would agree with you, even when you are incorrect.”</p><p>Jane didn’t even pretend to understand all that much about the subject, but that made sense. </p><p>“And that’s what they’ve done,” the man in the corner agreed.  “After the last election and the Parliament changed hands from the more progressive thinkers to those who want to withdraw, pretty much every single non-elected official was sacked and replaced.  It was a bloodless massacre.”</p><p>“I am sorry,” Donald replied politely, “but I am afraid I did not get your name, friend.”</p><p>The man blinked.  “Oh, right.  Everett Ross.  I work for the Wakandan government.”</p><p>Donald smirked.  “A spy, then.”</p><p>Princess Shuri laughed delightedly.  “Exactly!  You can imagine my surprise when I saw him working at the Academy as a custodian.”</p><p>“It gives me near-unlimited access to the entire Academy,” Ross answered, not at all bothered by the fact that he was a Wakandan spy who could have gotten arrested and killed if he was outed as such.  “I can go where I want and no one will give me a second glance.”</p><p>“My brother is quite overprotective,” the princess answered fondly.  “I was only ever more surprised that it wasn’t Nakia that he sent instead of you, Everett.”</p><p>Ross leaned his head back for a second, his eyes crinkled in humor and his arms crossing over his chest.  “I fit in better.  And the king was planning on asking Nakia to marry him the last time I was at Court.”</p><p>“He will freeze,” Okoye spoke up from her own corner, her accented voice stern and yet there was an underlying thread of laughter underneath the words.</p><p>“Like a deer being targeted by a very bright light,” Princess Shuri agreed, her laughter much more apparent.  “My brother may be king, but he still becomes tongue-tied around the woman he’s loved since they were children.”  Her face turned serious.  “And I am certain we will see both of them long before I had planned on, if the government intends on expelling all foreign peoples from Brittanium.”</p><p>“Just how sure are you that that’s going to happen?” Jane asked.  Darcy had explained a bit, and while Jane did trust her, she was a scientist and believed in getting all the information at hand.  These people seemed pretty well connected with events, so it would never hurt to ask.</p><p>“Pretty sure,” Ross answered.  “When things started really going downhill, Princess Shuri asked if I wouldn’t mind trying to find out Parliament’s intentions.  It was fairly easy; they aren’t exactly hiding anything.”</p><p>“Everett is quite good at what he does,” Princess Shuri was nodding.  “I am grateful he agreed to help.”</p><p>“If there was going to be any sort of danger,” the spy said, “then I needed to know it so me and Okoye could prepare for it.”</p><p>“And you are determined to get yourself into situations that predicate us having to pull you out.”  Okoye sounded almost fond as she raised a stern eyebrow in the princess’ direction.</p><p>“I have a fine sense of justice.”  Princess Shuri was unrepentant. “And I have enjoyed my time here.  I have learned much and would have wanted to learn more; however, that is becoming quickly impossible.”</p><p>Darcy nodded.  “Shuri’s right.  The expulsion is going to be sooner rather than later.  I estimate within the turn.”</p><p>Jane was surprised.  “I thought we’d have more time than that.”  How had it come to this?  What had made Brittanium want to close off their borders to the rest of Marvala so quickly?</p><p>When she asked that very question, Darcy sighed.  “It’s more than just the Parliament wanting to become self-reliant.  There’s a lot of things going on out in the world that’s affecting opinion here.”</p><p>“She’s right,” Ross said.  “It’s not just because they think their country will fare any better alone.  They’re saying that they want to <em>protect</em> Brittanium and their way of life from what a lot of people say is the end of things as we know it.”</p><p>Jane was shaking her head.  Darcy had been telling them that things weren’t the best, but this seemed to be a little extreme.  “Is it really that bad?”</p><p>Darcy leaned forward, putting her feet on the floor and resting her elbows on her knees.  “Every country on Marvala is destabilizing.”  She sighed.  “Despite what the Parliament thinks, each and every country and kingdom are connected by a web of agreements and treaties and commerce.  One small tug on any part of the web, and everything will collapse.  What Brittanium is doing will only speed up that collapse.”</p><p>“Wakanda just fought off a coup,” Princess Shuri added.  “My cousin, N’Jadaka, attempted to overthrow the King my Father, and very nearly succeeded.  He did manage to murder my father, and nearly murder my brother.  For three tendays, N’Jadaka ruled Wakanda, and threw the entire kingdom into chaos.  T’Challa managed to take the throne back, but it will take turns to repair the damage done in just that short a time.”</p><p>“We were lucky that we were home at the time,” Ross said. </p><p>“I wanted to stay,” the Princess averred, “but T’Challa insisted I return to my schooling.”</p><p>“The Academy is the best place for you to learn of your gifts,” Okoye spoke up.  “Or, it was.”</p><p>“As I am a technomage amidst druids and such,” Princess Shuri said; she must have read the question on Jane’s face, “my brother was right.”  She rolled her eyes.  “It sometimes happens.”</p><p>Jane could tell that the princess and her brother – the King of Wakanda – were close, just from the tone of voice she was using when speaking about him.  Being an only child, Jane didn’t have the experience with a sibling like that, but she could recognize it when she saw it.</p><p>“And it’s not just Wakanda,” Darcy moved the conversation back on track. “Waverlyn’s King is not the most stable person in the world, and it’s showing in how he’s governing now.  The Clan Council of Aal’valla want to go back to the old ways, where each clan is dedicated to one of the Twelve, and that’s going to be impossible.  They’re descending deeper and deeper into racism, which is why my mother left in the first place.  She told me that the last couple of generations of Aalveyn are leaving, which makes sense but, at the same time, it’s leaving the older generations to implement policies of racial purity.  It’s why I’ll never go there, unless things radically change for the better.”</p><p>Jane could understand.  Being <em>halva’</em>Aalveyn, Darcy wouldn’t have been welcome on Aal’valla.  Honestly, she just didn’t understand what the Aalveyn were thinking.  It made no sense to her.</p><p>“And then there is Asgard,” Donald spoke up.  No, this wasn’t Donald Blake…this was Thor, Prince of Asgard, exiled because he dared disagree with his father.  “King Odin has been a wise ruler, but he is growing frail and infirm, and his gifts are becoming less certain.  I gladly admit I was wrong to question him about fighting the Darklings, but I was hot-headed and impetuous, and it means that there is no one to take the throne if something should happen to my own father.  What is occurring within Asgard is as much my fault as it is King Odin’s.”  He was genuinely upset at what he thought was his part in his exile, which was a change from the brash prince she and Darcy had met that first time, when Darcy had been surprised by his sudden appearance and had used her shock rod on him.</p><p>The princess glanced at Darcy, who nodded slightly, as if they were speaking mind to mind.  Since neither of them were knowers, Jane suspected they simply knew each other well enough to carry on a silent conversation like that.</p><p>“The Achanri Hegemony just lost their Emperor,” Ross added, “and he didn’t designate an heir.  His four sons have gone to war with each other for control, which is tearing the country apart.”</p><p>“And in Sokovia, the Dragons and Humans are on the brink of civil war,” Darcy said.  “I’m really surprised it hasn’t started yet, because the Humans have been killing off Dragons for various reasons for the more than two hundred turns.  Despite being of Fire, the Dragons have been very patient and have been trying to negotiate, but it’s not working.  They could start fighting outright at any time.”</p><p>“As for the Shield Islands,” Prince Shuri finished, “there are rumors that the Governor there, Alexander Pierce, is becoming increasingly paranoid and ruthless in putting down what he sees as any sort of insurrection.  Plus, there is the issue of pirates hiding out within the archipelago, and that’s not helping the situation there any. Many of the islands have pretty much proclaimed their independence, but they have to do it quietly because Pierce still has control of the fleet of warships and could send them against anyone he saw as rebelling against his rule.”</p><p>“It’s bad,” Darcy replied.  “And it’s only going to get worse.  The world is changing, and I can’t say it’s for the better.”</p><p>Jane considered everything she’d heard, realizing that Darcy hadn’t been giving them complete information.  Yes, she’d been telling them for a while now that things were bad, but she hadn’t gone into a lot of detail, sticking mainly to events within Brittanium.  All of this, though…this was far beyond anything she’d even considered.</p><p>And yet, she suspected she would have seen all the signs if she’d been paying more attention, instead of being submerged into her own world of research and study.  But there was nothing for it now, and she had the most up to date information as she could get. </p><p>But she dragged her mind back to the reason they were meeting with these people in the first place.  “This doesn’t tell us how you plan on getting Donald out of the country.”</p><p>“It amuses me that you are called Donald, Your Highness.”  Princess Shuri grinned.</p><p>Thor returned the grin.  “It suits my purposes of remaining incognito.”</p><p>“I can get the proper documents,” Ross said, smirking slightly.  “They’ll allow you to pass as a resident visitor.  Which also means you’d be allowed to leave the country whenever you’re ready…or when they’re ready to kick those of us still here out of Brittanium, without anyone questioning why you were here in the first place.”</p><p>Jane couldn’t believe it would be that simple, and said so.</p><p>“Our friend here is an exemplary agent for Wakanda,” Princess Shuri replied.  “When we realized that things were happening far more quickly than we’d believed they would, I asked Everett to cultivate friendships with certain members of Parliament.  He was the one who forewarned us of the vote on isolation.”</p><p>“Despite it not being all that popular,” Ross pointed out.  “The protests should have been their first clue.”</p><p>It occurred to Jane in that beat that Everett Ross was literally a spy for a foreign power.  Yes, he’d started out as a shadow for Wakanda’s heir presumptive, but it had moved past that at some point.  Now, what he was doing was very much illegal; he was close to someone in the government, high enough to have access to just the sort of thing they needed to keep the authorities from discovering that Donald Blake, the assistant to Erik Selvig, was the exiled Prince of Asgard who’d entered the country without warning and had stayed without letting anyone know he was there.  He was hiding at the Academy, and Erik, as well as Darcy and Jane herself, were complicit in hiding him.  They could be arrested just as easily as Donald could, although she was certain Donald wouldn’t let it get that far.  Chances were, he’d deny they’d known who he truly was, throwing himself on his metaphorical sword in order to save them from incarceration.  It would be a very Princely thing to do, although Donald would say that he hadn’t always been that self-effacing.</p><p>And yet, here was this man, this spy, volunteering to do what they needed done, and getting the paperwork Donald would be required to have in order to avoid arrest as a possibly spy.  It was somewhat ironic that the spy had all the proper forms, while a Prince didn’t.  Jane felt like it should have been the other way around, but then Everett Ross would have been a piss poor spy if that had been the case.</p><p>“I would be honored if you could get the required papers for me,” Donald said formally, bowing slightly toward the other man.  “I would not wish to bring trouble down onto the ones who have done nothing by make certain I had employment and a place to live during my exile.  It would give me time to decide where I would wish to go next.”</p><p>Jane had known that Donald would agree to what the princess and her people were offering.  “And just what would he owe you for it?” she challenged.  Because, despite these people being known to Darcy, doing something illegal had to come with a price.</p><p>To her surprise, none of the Wakandan delegation looked insulted by her question.  In fact, Ross was nodding in approval and Okoye had a pleased gleam in her eyes, belying the impassiveness of her expression. The princess was smiling.</p><p>Princess Shuri laughed.  “You are a suspicious one, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  You do not know us, so I can understand why you would think we would demand some sort of payment.” She stood, turning to Donald, her face turning serious.  “I only ask that, if and when Prince Thor comes into his proper throne, that he remember that Wakanda did him a service when he was unable to so it himself.”</p><p>“That is easily done, Princess Shuri,” he returned solemnly.  “Ever has the throne of Asgard held the Wakandan people in utmost respect; I can only apologize that relations between our two countries have become fraught of late.”</p><p>“The world is becoming a harsh and unforgiving place,” the Princess of Wakanda answered.  “Perhaps, if Asgard and Wakanda can come together, it will set a precedent for the others to see.”</p><p>“That would indeed be a result most hopefully desired.”  Donald – no, this was very much Thor, Prince of Asgard, who’d been an arrogant child when kicked out of his own kingdom by the man who should have been showing him how to become a good king – bowed his head in respect.  “I cannot say when I will be welcomed home once more, or even if it would be within my father’s lifetime, but I swear to you that I will remember the aid you have given me and my friends this day for the rest of my life.  You are truly a wise one, Princess Shuri of Wakanda, and a credit to your people.”</p><p>The Princess looked touched by his words.  “It hasn’t always been so,” she admitted, “but I like to think my experiences during the coup and then living outside of our borders has given me a certain perspective that I will take back to my country.  My brother can use all the help he can get.”</p><p>“You will indeed be a credit to your brother.  I hope someday to meet him and tell him so myself.”</p><p>As Jane sat there and listened to the pleasantries, she could hardly believe her eyes and ears.  There was no way it could have been that easy.  And yet, she had Darcy to watch for anything wrong, and she was beaming as Donald and the Princess bonded, making plans to meet again and to discuss issues between their two kingdoms.  She’d been watching Donald for so many tendays, and yet this was the first time she’d ever seen him truly acting like a would-be ruler.  He was kind, and gracious, and yet at one point he was perfectly willing to tease Princess Shuri over something, and laugh as she teased him in return. </p><p>Jane didn’t want to admit that there was a small spike of jealousy at how well they were getting along, but the Princess was still practically a child, and it wasn’t as if Donald had ever really given Jane herself a sign that he would have been interested in something a little more than friendship.  Would a prince have been willing to take a lowly scientist out for dinner some time?  She somehow doubted it, but then if Donald had remained in Asgard, they never would have met in the first place.</p><p>But then, at this moment, Donald wasn’t really a Prince, was he?  He’d been stripped of his title and position by a father who’d believed that he was doing what was right after his son had been impetuous and had disagreed with him over going to battle against these Darklings that Donald had told them about.  Jane wasn’t sure why that had been so bad to warrant exile, but then she didn’t understand politics like Darcy did. </p><p>Still, this would mean that Donald would no longer be in danger of arrest or deportation… most likely arrest, if it was ever discovered that he was, in fact, a Prince of Asgard.  Tensions had always run high between Brittanium and Asgard, so even though Donald was there innocently it would have been taken as something worse.</p><p>Getting the proper paperwork – even if it was technically being stolen by a Wakandan spy – would give them all time to plan.  They would be able to breathe a little easier.</p><p>Jane was glad of that.  Maybe it would give her and Erik time to finish their research…</p><p> </p>
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